A Bittersweet Journey
by TheOptimist11
Summary: Sherlock is back. Molly's feelings towards Tom are questioned, and Sherlock's feelings towards Molly start to... shift. He makes a mistake. It's the biggest mistake of his life and the people he loves will suffer from it. Sherlolly! Rated M because I want to be able to write whatever I want.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:**  
**As I write this, I wonder how many people will actually read this silly little story. I guarantee there will be typos most likely, so don't go in thinking I'm an actual experienced writer. I just had an idea for Sherlock and started typing. The idea won't come up for another few chapters. I'm not sure if this chapter is long or short compared to other fanfictions; I haven't read enough to know what the normal length is. This will be a multi-chapter sort of deal. It will eventually turn into a Sherlolly fanfiction when the time comes. Maybe. Probably. I'm just buying time now, I'm scared to press the "Publish" button… AHH!**

**I don't own Sherlock or anything so… please don't sue me!**

* * *

Chapter 1

Molly was headed to a coffee shop not far away from Bart's when she heard her phone chirp.

HE'S BACK.

-GL

She knew exactly what those words meant. Her heartbeat quickened.

Molly knew he was not dead, of course, at the beginning. She was the one who helped him fake his death. Well… fake his autopsy at least.

She remembered going through the motions of examining the body. Knowing he would wake up within the next few hours. But by then, no one but Molly would have been there- except for her and the corpses. She somehow avoided looking anywhere he wouldn't wish her to.

Molly, in some way, found this very surreal, seeing him like this. So lifeless. So cold. It gave her the creeps, no doubt, but the fact that he was here proved how much he trusted Molly to do her part of the plan. She felt honored.

She had to admit, keeping up a front through all of Anderson's persistent questions was pretty hard. She was proud of herself for not giving anything away; not being a very good liar to begin with. But this was for Sherlock. She would have done anything for that man. Her school girl crush almost cliché.

* * *

Molly didn't even have to put on a front of being sad at the funeral. Seeing the reactions of those around her: John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade… It absolutely broke her heart.

She knew why he had killed himself; it was to save the people he cared about the most. But the same act that would save them would also be the act that hurt them more than Sherlock could understand. Not then, at least. They would never move on from this, not even now, that he is back. They will have an ache in their heart when they remembered the pain they were feeling in that moment.

Mycroft was there at the funeral, standing by himself. Molly didn't know if he knew the truth or not, but he had the same, unhappy, gruff look on his face as usual.

Lestrade stood like a statue, unmoving and stiff. The only thing that changed was his facial expressions. Changing from deep depression to vast loathing. Sometimes not seeming to be aware of his surroundings. The stench of whiskey percolated the air around him. His wife had just left him again not long after Sherlock's 'death'. Molly couldn't help but shed a tear for what he was going through.

Mrs. Hudson -who reminded Molly of her Gram so much- would let out soft little sobs every so often, then raise a handkerchief with her trembling hand up to her mouth. She had told Molly once that she had only been pregnant once, but the child was born too early and died a few hours later. As Molly watched the tears rolling down her cheek one after another, she knew in her heart, Sherlock was a son to her. And so was John, whom she was now holding hands with for dear life.

Oh John… His eyes furrowed through the entire service; frowning. Of course, what else would he be doing? This frown seemed different though. Deeper. Causing him to age before your very eyes. His breathing would be smooth at one moment, then become slightly sporadic at others, trying to keep himself calm. His eyes looked so tired, so sad, so… old.

His words were short when they asked for people to speak. Meaningful, sort of, but not exactly what molly expected. "Sherlock was not only a great man, but a good one." Molly heard an awkward kind of grunt from Lestrade who was trying to hold back a sob, Molly had guessed. "He once told me that caring is not an advantage," Molly saw Mycroft's head lift up out of the corner of her eye. "But I am here to say to him that it is not a choice either. And I think he knew that, deep down… in the end, perhaps…" He looked like he might say something else but stopped himself. He looked down and walked back over to Mrs. Hudson who was quietly weeping.

She saw John standing at Sherlock's grave alone, talking, after everyone had walked away. Molly hoped he was saying more than he did during the funeral because she knew that Sherlock was stupid enough to attend his own funeral, but also brilliant enough to get away with it. She wiped her eyes as she walked towards the street to get a taxi back to her flat.

She kept in touch with Lestrade due to her job as a pathologist. He seemed to be dealing with everything well. Anderson, with his ridiculous questions and theories, continued to drive Lestrade absolutely mad.

She tried to have tea with Mrs. Hudson once every month or so. Mrs. Hudson appreciated this very much. She loved being around Molly. She reminded her of the daughter that she had lost so many years ago, and of Sherlock… whom she had also lost.

Molly always would take Mrs. Hudson out for tea instead of coming over, knowing the boys always made her make them tea. She felt like she should treat her for once. Unless, of course, Mrs. Hudson invited her over.

John, on the other hand, was a completely different story. She and he had coffee once a few weeks after the funeral. He was moving his things out of the 221B as quickly as possible. They talked about his plans and his new job at a new doctor's office. She tried to mention Sherlock at one point. He quickly said, "Don't… please, just… don't."

They had spoken four times since then. She knew she reminded him of Sherlock and the life he once had, so she quit prying on trying to meet up. She knew this whole thing hit him the hardest. They loved each other. He was Sherlock's real brother. Not in blood, but in bond. Their friendship was something that rarely happens. It is something beautiful and precious. She never believed the rumors of their supposed "love life." People can't imagine two men loving each other like they did without thinking something more was going on.

John had grown some god awful mustache the last time Molly saw him. He had also met a girl. Mary. She was absolutely lovely. They were adorable together. Though John still acted odd in Molly's opinion. Not odd, just sad. Still looked old. Had obviously gained a few pounds. Still wearing ugly vests and sweaters. Which Molly couldn't really say much, her fashion since was pretty horrendous. He was obviously still mourning his lost friend…

Oh, Sherlock…

Molly had been so captivated with Sherlock. He was beautiful, brilliant, and wonderful. But was also cruel, rude, and insensitive. She had always seen him as this God-like man with flawless features and such massive intellect. He was so brave and fearless, not letting anything faze him. She was so infatuated with this man that she could barely get a sentence out without stuttering. She knew it annoyed him when she acted this way. Her stupid school girl crush was ridiculous. They were adults. Adults don't act like this.

The day he told her he needed her, she knew it wasn't just some cruel way to manipulate her like usual; he really and truly needed her. His eyes were slightly red, slowly filling with tears. He was scared. This undoubtedly broke her heart. This was the exact moment he let those concrete walls of his slip for Molly to see how absolutely frightened and vulnerable he actually was in that moment. This was the instant her crush on him was over. He wasn't just some flawless man who was too good for her anymore. He was this poor man who needed her. This was the instant she fell in love with him. The real him.

The last time she saw him before leaving, he still had a little bit of the dried 'blood' on his hairline. While getting dressed after his fake autopsy, he was telling her that she needed to go to his funeral, saying that it seemed like something she would do. Nothing she didn't already know.

After giving her other instructions, he walked up to her, fully dressed in tattered and dirty clothes; an old frayed looking hat in hand. The next part of the plan was obviously where the homeless network came in, she guessed. There was a pause as he looked her up and down thoughtfully. He then grabbed her hand and said, "Thank you, Molly Hooper," lifting her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

Her cheeks flushed to a deep red. Ok, maybe the silly crush wasn't completely over…

He smiled, seeing this reaction from her. In one fluid motion he turned, hooked the fedora onto his head, turned up the collar of his battered brown coat, said, "Until next time!" and walked out the door.

She knew that helping him with this plan was a way of letting him go, possibly forever. She knew he was going to try to dismantle Moriarty's web. She knew it would be dangerous. She knew there was a great possibility that he would die trying to accomplish this.

She tried to move on. She eventually did. She met Tom. Tom was nice and kind to her. Tom's family seemed to like her enough. Tom had a dog. Tom was handsome. She loved Tom. Tom was great…Tom. Tom. Tom. What a boring name. Not like Molly was exotic or anything. Tom was actually a lovely name. Her favorite actor's name was Tom.

She was just being silly.

She was happy.

Really.

They dated for about eight months before he proposed to her. They started dating about a year after Sherlock's fall. He worked at St. Bart's hospital as some kind of lawyer or business man or something. She guess she should figure out exactly what he did for a living before they got married. She knew he made a lot, which she didn't really care about.

He, on the other hand, knew a lot about what she does. Always seeming fascinated about her work. She loved that about him. Most people thought it was gross and disturbing. He always asked so many questions about certain people. The ones that were a little odd or the ones that were part of a case.

She, of course, would never reveal a lot about them. Most people never thought about Molly ever knowing much about the crime part of a case. They always kept her on a need to know basis even though she could figure out most of what happened by looking at the body.

Tom would always come up with ridiculous scenarios of how the crimes happened. Pretending to be as great as Sherlock once was. She would always laugh and giggle at them, thinking they were funny.

Sometimes though, she longed to be amazed once more by a brilliant man solving the crime by focusing on such small details. But she had completely moved on. She was completely happy being with Tom.

Another thing about Tom, he was fascinated by Sherlock. His detective stories, at least. He always asked Molly about different cases that she had helped with from a pathologist's point of view. He wanted to know all about it, know how Sherlock thought. If Molly had actually thought Sherlock was dead, she might have been bothered by this, but she wasn't. He liked to keep up with Anderson's ridiculous (while some were true) theories on Sherlock and whether he was alive or not.

At one point she was worried she had made a terrible mistake by being engaged to a gay man. She swatted off the idea and decided he was just a little quirky. Anderson was ten times worse than Tom and he certainly wasn't gay; being married to a woman AND having an affair with Sally on the side.

When she heard of Sherlock's return, she went still. Her breath caught in her throat. All things Tom left her mind as a grin crept across her face.

* * *

Sherlock stood in front of his mirror, staring at himself. He was shirtless but had his trousers on. He had thinned down since the last time he was able to really look in a mirror. His muscles had become more defined due to the strenuous activity he had endured through for the past seven months in Russia.

He turned sideways and saw the remnants of the scars and bruises on his sides and back. He had two large bandages total. One, on his shoulder blade where he had a cut about six inches long. It had been tended to and stitched; it might leave a scar, it might not. The other was on his left hip where a guard had stuck a red hot poker and drug it along his hip bone just a week ago. That particular scar would never completely go away.

He had older scars on his body as well, they had mostly faded. Only a few of them were permanent.

His face had mostly healed. He still had a small cut on his lip and a bright strawberry on his jawline. Due to the weight loss, his cheeks had sunken in more than usual, causing his already defined cheekbones to come at even sharper points. Some people with this particular characteristic might be defined as sickly looking but not Sherlock. He looked positively ferocious. Intimidating. Dangerous. Sexy.

He couldn't help but wonder what molly would think of this. There was no point in wondering this, really. He knew she had that stupid school girl crush on him. It was extremely annoying and inconvenient. She was a brilliant pathologist, he knew, but when she was ever around him she acted like some bumbling idiot, always stuttering and getting flustered over nothing.

He did use this knowledge to his advantage on occasion. Only when it was completely necessary. Not including the time when he asked her to help him with the fall. There was no manipulating ruse being pulled at that moment. He needed her. He trusted her. She did _not_ disappoint. She came through for him. She could have lost her job if she was founded out, but she was fantastic. She worked wonderfully under pressure, he found out. Could have fooled him.

He had visited all of his main acquaintances besides Molly so far. The cut and strawberry on his face were due to his visit with John. Stupid old man with his stupid old man's mustache. Lastrade ended up hugging him… he would have rather gotten punched. Mrs. Hudson screamed. _Fairly overdramatic_, Sherlock thought to himself.

He was done getting dressed. Signature coat and scarf, of course. He took one more look in the mirror, ruffled his curls, and walked out the door.

He decided to walk to St. Bart's instead of taking a taxi. He needed time to think out what he was going to tell her. He did decide against a disguise. He learned his lesson.

He wanted to let her know that he appreciated how she helped him fake his death. Which was pretty ridiculous. He told her thank you right before he left.

A part of him just wanted to see Molly. That didn't make since either. Yes, he cared for her but he didn't understand why he was this… nervous.

As he walked to St. Bart's he thought back to his funeral. Seeing everyone's reactions. Lastrade deeply indulged in liquor. John… Suffering a great deal due to his loss. Mrs. Hudson sniveling away. He was pleased that John had stayed to say something else besides what he said at the funeral. It was heart wrenching. Sherlock wanted to come out of hiding and go to John. To show him that he was alive and well. He couldn't risk it though. He couldn't just blow everything he had worked for to comfort John. And what if he did die while detangling Moriarty's web? John would have to lose Sherlock all over again. Sherlock couldn't do that to him.

He walked into the hospital, making his way to Molly's lab. Not seeing her there, he walked to the nearby locker room that he knew Molly's was at.

He stepped through the door and saw her all alone, bent over, rummaging through her locker. After waiting a few heartbeats for Molly to stand up and turn around, Sherlock got bored and stole a quick glance at her bum.

_Still flat. _He thought to himself.

She finally turned around, just barely missing him staring at her bum. Maybe it wasn't as quick a glance as Sherlock thought. She stared at him with her big brown eyes. Her heart racing a mile a minute.

"Hello," he said.

She smiled at him, "Hello, Sherlock."

He started with her hair. Still long. Recently cut due to the very few split ends he could see from this distance and with the fresh cut lines throughout her hair. Bags under her eyes, obviously had been working since early this morning possibly over night as well. No lipstick on her overly thin lips… A red mark on her neck, possibly from a flat iron. Though he could see that she didn't use one this morning. _Odd… _He thought to himself.

She was wearing the same hideous sweater she had had since before he left. She looked thinner than she had when he left. Her nails had been painted pink, possibly on Saturday, due to how much they were chipped. Her hands, so small and delicate, were…- He then saw a thin gold band on her left ring finger with a diamond set on it. An engagement ring.

For one moment. For one small, unnoticeable moment, Sherlock froze. He stared at the ring on her finger… He felt his body go cold. He felt the pounding of the heart in his chest reverberate throughout his body. He felt his throat tighten.

_Why on earth was she engaged? Who would she accept to? Do I know this bastard? What the hell was going on? Will this affect my availability to the lab?_ He needed a cigarette. He swallowed at the lump that was forming in his throat. He looked back at Molly's warm and kind smile. That smile might have actually made him feel even worse.

Other than letting friendly expression drop, he did not show that he noticed the ring. His slight smile had all but fallen. With a flat face and a touch of Sherlock condescension, he said, "I came over to let you know _officially _that I am back in London and will be in need of your lab once again as soon as Lastrade is in desperate need of my help with a case. Which, I do believe will not be too far in the future. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Uh… Oh-Okay… I-I mean no. That will be fine." Molly stuttered. Ugh… She hated herself. She wouldn't have stuttered if it weren't for his sudden mood change. And his deep voice. And his cheekbones. Oh God, those cheekbones. Had they actually gotten sharper?

The stutter she suddenly acquired gave him some self-confidence back. He enjoyed intimidating people when he means to. He half way turned to walk away, but something stopped him. That's not how he wanted to end this first meeting.

He looked back at her and said in a soft voice, "It's good to see you again, Molly." Then turned around and walked out the door before Molly could say anything back at him.

**Ok, well that was my first Chapter! I promise it does pick up eventually! Until Next Time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**Okay. This one is super short compared to the first one. I kind of had trouble wording some of this. I hope you can't tell... Sorry if you can. This one also has a little bit of cussing and romanticness... sort of. Thank you everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed! Love you all! The action is coming! I promise! **

**I don't own Sherlock!**

Chapter 2

Not long after their first encounter, Sherlock invited Molly to accompany him on a case due to John not speaking to him currently. He needed an assistant and Molly was very intelligent. She would make a fantastic assistant and the probability of her turning him down was very slim, he figured.

She answered "yes" immediately. She later began to think of Tom and how this might make him feel. For Sherlock, of course, this was completely innocent and all business, but for Molly, old feelings were bubbling up again.

* * *

Molly came home, drowning in guilt. Why had she done that? This was so stupid! She made a commitment to a man and couldn't have this stupid crush on Sherlock anymore. At least she had the decency to end it before she got too caught up in whatever was going on.

She had told Sherlock that she couldn't go on any more cases with him. She couldn't. It was stirring up old feelings that needed to stay at bay. She loved Tom with all her heart. She couldn't just give that up for a man that would never see her as anything other than a friend and a pathologist with thin lips and small breasts. And why should she? She deserves someone who will appreciate her and at least think she is descent looking.

Tom seemed to think she was pretty enough. He told her she was pretty on occasion, at least. Molly needed someone to tell her she was pretty after being around Sherlock so often. Always pointing out her flaws. She accepted that she'd never truly be pretty, due to her plain features. Not really having anything stand out from the other beautiful women around her. She accepted this and was ok with it. She was smarter than most of the women around her and she prided herself on this.

She and Tom had not had sex yet despite being engaged for about five months. Molly had had too many fucked up relationships and had sworn it off until marriage, _or until Sherlock developed a sex drive_, she would tell herself, giggling at her stupid joke.

Jim was at the top of the list of fucky relationships though. She only dated him for a few days, but they had gone further than Molly had anticipated one night after going to the pub. She doesn't remember much of it but she does remember waking up the next morning with his arm draped over her. She wondered if he had actually drugged her that night. She'll never know now. Didn't really care to know. Just the fact that he was dead helped her sleep at night.

Tom came over that night to watch telly with Molly. He brought some Chinese food for them to eat. She decided to tell him everything. She didn't want to seem like she was keeping anything from him.

When Molly told him, he seemed delighted that she and Sherlock had gone on a case together. Ecstatic, in fact. Why would he have been threatened? It was just a case. He only needed an assistant. It wasn't like a date or anything.

Tom went on and on with more and more questions. Asking about the case and if Sherlock had solved it. He asked when the next one would be—which, if you think about it, is a very stupid thing to ask-and Molly told him that she told Sherlock she couldn't go on any more cases with him. He furrowed his eyebrows at her. He almost looked angry.

"Why?" he asked her.

"I just don't think it's appropriate for me to spend so much time with him while I'm engaged to another man." She said, curious at his sudden frustration.

He tried to get her to reconsider. She declined, knowing that spending more time with Sherlock would just cause her feelings to develop at full bloom again. His brows furrowed again.

* * *

Sherlock noticed something else about Molly that puzzled him when he first encountered her. She seemed… stronger. She held eye contact with him. She did stutter but mainly because he was being rude to her. He couldn't really blame her for that. She still held eye contact, she stood up straighter, held her head up higher. He found it very becoming of her. Was this because of the new man in her life?

He considered the possibility. He wasn't happy with the conclusion so he dismissed the entire thought from his mind.

When he met her again, a few days later to ask her to accompany him on a case, the first thing he noticed was the ring. It was still there… He didn't know why that bothered him. Why wouldn't she still be wearing it? Despite convincing himself that he didn't care, he was still washed over with a cold sort of feeling when he looked at it.

Molly meant a lot to him, but asking her to go on a case this way didn't seem right. She was his pathologist, not his assistant. None the less, he actually enjoyed her company.

During the case, he knew that when he was yelling at John (who wasn't actually there) it had scared her and upset her. It would have been better if he had brought his skull instead, since Mrs. Hudson had finally given him back. He hated that he made Molly feel uncomfortable. If this were a date it would have gone horribly wrong. But since it was not a date, it still went horribly wrong.

He did, in fact, get to see Molly make her own deductions on the body. It was fascinating for Sherlock to see her in her element.

_She's brilliant, _he thought to himself. _Absolutely fantastic._

Eventually, that evening, he plucked up enough composure to tell her congratulations on her engagement. She answered with, "Thank you."

He looked at her again. Her hair had been pulled up, most likely because she had a lot of post mortems to do that day. She was wearing a light pink lip gloss, complementing her face very nicely. She had on a hideous brown sweater and a multicolored scarf… She looked ridiculous. He couldn't help but smile at her slightly.

She noticed him staring and she blushed.

He had missed seeing her blush. He thought it was for self-satisfying reasons only but it is actually a pleasant thing to watch. The shade of pink brushes across her face and fades away almost gracefully.

He looked at her neck now, her scarf no longer wrapped around her. The red mark that was on her neck a few days ago had faded to a light pink. Sherlock froze. His blood began to boil. He knows what that mark is. Of course he does. Just a simple little mark. Most of society could recognize a mark like that, but not Sherlock. Not with Molly. He was so stupid sometimes. He would have never thought he would see this mark on his pathologist. A hickey. Molly had a hickey.

He imagined _Tom _groping at her body and sucking so hard on her neck to mark her as his own. _What a possessive thing to do…_ he thought to himself angrily, _to mark someone as their own. It must have hurt her. _He was pissed. No, he was beyond pissed. He was livid. Instead of going cold, he went hot. Feeling his heartbeat quicken. He clenched his jaw, and looked away from her. There was no reason for him to be so angry. They had the right to do whatever they wanted with each other. He had been acting so stupid lately. This had nothing to do with what was important. The game is all that matters and this woman was distracting him from it.

Before he could stop himself from thinking it, he imagined Molly in his arms. Him, sucking hard on her neck, greedily. He was squeezing her shoulder, pushing her into him somewhat roughly. He tossed that image away and replaced it with him tenderly kissing her neck, barely making contact. Her, leaning into him and audibly sighing from pleasure. _Oh, god…_ he thought to himself disgustedly. He immediately deleted the thought from his mind, angry that he let something like that go through the filter. He had no time for human weakness. The game was on.

When he walked her to her flat, she told him she couldn't do anymore cases with him, and that she was sorry.

_Oh… _He thought. He needed an assistant though. What was he going to do now? He needed to get back to 221B and find his skull. Even though Mrs. Hudson gave him back, Sherlock still seemed to lose him pretty often. Then, he felt a little sad. He understood that she couldn't be with him as often as he needed her to be, now that she was soon to be imprisoned by matrimony.

She told him thank you and that she had a lovely time.

He looked at her with sad, almost pleading eyes. This surprised her.

"I understand," he said to her. He then leaned down to kiss her cheek lightly, pulling away slowly. He turned around and walked away quickly, leaving Molly baffled before she finally went inside her flat.

**Ok! Chapter number two is done! Hope it was ok! I've got the next few chapters written already so it shouldn't take too long for me to update! Sorry for the cuss words! And I was contemplating whether or not to add in the "fantasy" Sherlock had, but it had to start at some point! Orevwa!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:**

**Hello again, everyone! Thank y'all so much for the follows, favorites, and reviews! This chapter is a little bit choppy; sorry about that! It heats up a little bit, sort of- reader's discretion is advised. It also has cuss words. Hmmm… I guess that's all folks! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!**

**I do not own Sherlock!**

* * *

Chapter 3

John and Sherlock were friends again, finally. John had forgiven him. It was wonderful. Sherlock could now go on with his life with his blogger by his side. There was no need to be upset that Molly couldn't accompany him anymore. He could move on.

He hadn't had a case in days, despite his blogger being with him again. He slept a reasonable amount of hours every night, unlike usual. He liked to be on edge when he was working on a case, sleeping for a few hours every two or three nights. He was now going through a lull. He had time to sleep, time to eat, time to organize his mind palace, etc.

Overall, it was completely boring. He tried to busy himself with various experiments.

He couldn't go to Bart's to do his experiments. He couldn't see Molly.

If she had been having sex within the last few nights with _Tom_, Sherlock would have been able to tell. He didn't want to know.

When he did need to use her lab, he tried to avoid looking at her, smelling her, and listening to her talk. He couldn't help himself sometimes and was able to tell she hadn't been having sex. At least not in the past few days.

He wondered if they were fighting. He smirked at the idea.

* * *

The dreams started a few days into this lull.

They started off innocent. Only seeing Molly a few times and only seeing her for a brief moment. Then, she gradually started appearing in them more often and for longer periods of time. They started focusing on her. He would see them having dinner together, laughing and holding hands. They eventually became less innocent. Kisses were shared, articles of clothing were beginning to be shed…

Some nights he would wake up with a thin sheen of sweat covering him. His pulse would be racing, he would be out of breath slightly, and his eyes would be dilated (not from just the darkness).

He scolded himself when he woke up from these ridiculous dreams. His mind was failing him. He usually never dreamed. What was wrong with him? He had left human weaknesses behind a long time ago.

Granted, his drug addiction was the main one he gave into, but he had his reasons for that. His mind was somewhat hard to handle at times; always racing in a million directions. It was truly maddening. It still is, sometimes. The morphine and heroin helped calm his mind and slow it down to an almost normal speed. It was a way to rest from his chaotic mind when it became too much. The cocaine, on the other hand, made his thoughts race at a speed that he could barely process. It also caused so much euphoria and pride that he didn't really care. When he looks back at this, he is washed over with anger and regret. He wasted so many years on indulging in drugs when he could have been putting his mind to better use.

As a teenager, Sherlock did give into relieving his sexual tension with masturbation, but he never had fantasies. He certainly had never been infatuated with someone. It was purely for physical purposes. He hadn't indulged in quite a long time, and he wasn't about to start now.

He sat up in his bed and raked his fingers through his damp curls. He set his face in his hands and slowed his breathing. Once he calmed down, he got up and took a cold shower. A VERY cold shower. He detested cold showers but these particular ones, late at night, were necessary…

* * *

Sherlock wasn't the only one who was having dreams. Molly would wake up every night or morning in the same condition as Sherlock, minus a few obvious details.

All of her dreams were based around Sherlock, never Tom. Instead of being washed over with anger, like Sherlock, after her dreams, she felt guilty. Tom did not deserve this. He knew somehow. He knew Molly was cheating; not physically, but mentally and emotionally. Molly just knew that he knew. That's why he had been acting so strange. So angry.

They had been arguing over something unimportant one day. Molly had lost her patience with him about something. She turned to walk away from him, not wanting to hear anymore. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back towards him. His grip left bruises on her arm. He didn't mean to hurt her, honestly. It was an accident. He just lost his temper for a moment. She had to wear long sleeves for two weeks to keep it hidden from people so they wouldn't think he was some sort of abuser. Sherlock didn't even notice. But then again, she had only seen him a few times, and even when she did see him, he hardly spoke to her or even looked in her general direction.

Tom and Molly soon made up and snogged for almost an hour. He was a rough snogger. He enjoyed groping and squeezing and sucking hard. He sometimes left hickies on her; she use to think that that was _such_ a turn on. Now, it was an inconvenience. She wasn't very good with makeup, so she was forced to wear scarves or collars which never really covered them.

She couldn't help but think about how Sherlock would snog. Would he be rough or gentle? She imagined him being rough. This seemed to not bother her as much as it did with Tom. She imagined him being gentle… She hadn't really ever experienced a gentle lover. They were always so eager to get started and finished with. She liked the idea of going slow at it for once.

Tom- being a typical man, Molly supposed- always pushed to go further. But after saying no a few times, he would finally give up.

* * *

Sherlock was finally on a case. Molly still invading his mind more than ever. He tried not to sleep anymore due to the dreams. He hadn't eaten either. He had bags under his eyes. John looked at him with worry written all over his face.

"Sherlock, what's gotten into you? You look like a bloody -", John said to him while they were in a taxi together. Sherlock had been staring out the window, and was obviously not paying attention to John- being too deep in thought.

After a few minutes, John tried to make conversation that might take Sherlock's mind off of whatever was going through it.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John said after Sherlock did not hear him again.

Sherlock finally looked over at John, "What?"

"Have you met Molly's fiancé?"

Sherlock's face fell. Suddenly put off, he replied, "No." then turned his head towards the window again.

"I have… It's funny." John said in a mocking tone.

Sherlock's head snapped around, "What? What's funny?"

"He looks an awful lot like you." John said with a smile, "Even dresses sort of like you. Coat and scarf and all. I guess Molly's little crush on you never really went away, eh?"

Sherlock looked away for a moment, not put off, just thinking. He smiled slightly and said to his friend, "I suppose not."

* * *

Sherlock was sitting in Molly's Lab. She sat at her desk doing a short bit of paperwork while he sat at the microscope, studying samples of various cloth that had been seared; categorizing them in his mind palace in case he will need to know for a case one day. He could have easily done this at his flat, but he hadn't seen Molly in a while and wanted to see her.

He had spoken very few words to her lately due to wanting to keep his distance. She did not need him in her life, giving her false hope, or criticizing her.

He was ashamed for ever doing that to her. He felt guilty for manipulating his friend's feelings just to get her to do him a favor, and for pointing out her flaws. He didn't really see them as flaws though, just characteristics that most people deemed undesirable. He was not one of those people, so coming from him, it was not technically an insult. Still, he told her these thing to hurt her, and it worked. Molly, one of the sweetest women in London, and Sherlock had hurt her and manipulated her. She deserved better. She deserved someone who wasn't a psychopath or a sociopath. She deserved to be happy.

His thoughts were now far far away from seared cloth. He could never make Molly happy. She wanted and needed something he just could not offer her. This, surprisingly, made him feel very… disheartened. He was married to his work. He could barely keep up a friendship with John. Having a romantic relationship with someone seemed so… impossible for Sherlock. He was a condescending ass hole, he could never make anyone happy. It was also something normal people did. Normal just wasn't what Sherlock did.

He might be overthinking this. She may be happy already. She _is_ engaged to someone. She may not need Sherlock now that she has Tom.

Sherlock quit playing the charade of looking into the microscope; he pulled away and just stared into oblivion, thinking of that last statement. Was he losing his Molly? Should he even care?

Molly walked towards a cabinet near Sherlock. She seemed to feel uncomfortable around him, but not in the same way she used to. It was as if she felt unwelcome. Probably because Sherlock had somewhat shut her out lately. She bent down to rummage through the cabinet for something. Sherlock turned his head to watch her. Her lab coat in the way of a nice sight, Sherlock vaguely noticed.

"Molly?" Sherlock said quietly.

Molly spun around, surprised at the sound of his voice. "Yes?" she said almost just as quiet.

Sherlock paused for a moment. He looked away for a moment, not wanting to meet her eyes. "Does… Tom… Does Tom make you happy? I mean, truly happy?" His voice was very quiet, very serious, and very sad.

She was very caught off guard by this question. How could she answer? _Yes, of course._ But was she happy? _Yes_. Truly happy? _Yes..?_ Of course she was happy, she was getting married with the love of her life. She was happy. Yes. Happy. _Ok… So say yes… _

"Yes… I am…" She said to Sherlock after an awkwardly long pause. She let out a breath. She stood up and walked to a cabinet a little further away from him.

_She isn't showing her face… Is she lying to me?_ He couldn't tell. Was he just hoping she was lying? Did he want her to be lying so much so that it affected his deduction? No, he wouldn't allow that to happen. Three out of four times, hiding your face is a sign of lying. Was this one of those times?

"Are you sure?" Sherlock said to her, turning in his chair to face her.

She looked at him straight in the eyes. Remembering that looking him in the eyes was the best chance of him not suspecting anything. "Yes, Sherlock," she said to him.

_There you go,_ Sherlock said to himself. _She's happy. That's great. You're happy for her._

"That's good to hear," He said to her as he abruptly stood up to grab his coat and scarf. Not wanting them to continue this conversation, he walked towards the door. "See you later," he said to her under his breath.

* * *

Molly stayed up half the night thinking about that conversation with Sherlock. Who was she kidding? She wasn't happy. She hadn't been happy in a long time. She didn't know if Sherlock saw through this or not.

_Tom didn't deserve this, _she said to herself for the hundredth time. She still felt strongly for Sherlock. She couldn't marry someone when she was in love with someone else. It wasn't fair. She couldn't do that to someone. Even if the one she was in love with will never love her back, she couldn't do it. She had to end it. She had to call off the wedding…

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! I love you all! I hope you enjoyed it! Next update is coming soon, promise!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:**

**I'm SO sorry it took so long to update! I have discovered Dramione fan fiction… It has cut into a lot of my time. Haha! Thank you for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews! I really appreciate it guys, y'all rock! **

**Ok, this chapter is NOT for the faint of heart. I feel bad for really even typing this. I'm sorry if anyone is insulted or disturbed by this one. If you are at any point, please stop reading this chapter because it does not get better. Trust me. It has violence and other** **bad stuff. Just a warning!**

* * *

Chapter 4

Molly couldn't sit still. She cleaned her kitchen and put on a pot of tea. Her hands were beginning to tremble. She had invited Tom over so they could talk, so she could call off the engagement.

She was washed over with so many emotions she didn't know what to do. She felt guilty for having feelings for Sherlock, and for letting the engagement last as long as it had while she knew it wasn't working anymore. She was angry at herself for being in love with someone who was so cruel to her and who did not care about her. She was giving up Tom for someone like that.

Tom loved her and Sherlock… tolerated her. She thought about that for a moment. She felt the sting of tears begin to fill her eyes. How could she be in love with someone who _tolerated_ her? But she was… More than he would ever know or understand.

She began to think about what would happen after she called the wedding off. Would she even bother dating? Would there be someone else that could cause her to truly move on? Would she be forced to live a lonely life?

She began to panic. Maybe she shouldn't call off the wedding. Maybe she just needed more time to get over Sherlock.

There was a knock on the door.

Molly took a deep, shaky breath and walked up to the door.

Tom stood there, smiling bright at her. He had such a lovely smile.

She let him in and led him into her living room. She went into the kitchen to poor two cups of tea. She sat next to him on the couch. By now, he had noticed something was wrong. He grabbed both of her hands and said, "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Molly was staring at her lap now. "Tom, I don't know how to tell you this but… I can't…"

She looked up to see him and saw his face, contorted into a scowl. "Uhh…" was all she could say as she slowly leaned away from him.

"Let me guess… You're calling off the wedding." he said in a condescending angry voice.

Molly, always the quick thinker, said, "Uhh…"

Tom smirked at her, pulled out something from his coat and…

That's it. That's all she could remember. Just black.

* * *

Molly started to wake up, finally. She had a huge headache… She heard laughing. She opened her eyes slowly. She tried to put her hand to her forehead but something stopped her hand after only a few inches. She looked. Handcuffed? Had she been arrested? She couldn't remember? Was she drunk? She didn't remember going out… Tom… She had been telling Tom she couldn't go on with the wedding. And then…

She looked up. Tom was sitting across a desk from her. Smiling at her. Not his sweet smile, this was a different kind of smile. She imagined The Joker in her foggy, throbbing mind.

"Tom? Where are we? What happened?"

"Oh, Molly… Oh, so stupid, little Molly…" Tom said to her, still sneering.

"Wh-what?" _Did he just call me stupid?!_

"Let me explain…" he said as he leaned over and slapped her, hard.

She gasped in shock. She shuddered… finally understanding. The man in front of her had tricked her. He had never loved her. She didn't know why he had tricked her but she would find out soon enough. She sobbed quietly for a moment. "What do you want from me?"

"Information." He said, still with that awful smile on his face, "and various forms of revenge."

"Revenge? For what?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he said menacingly. He then slapped her again, harder this time.

She looked up at him. Fear had absolutely washed over her. Adrenalin was numbing the sting of the slap- sort of. She started to tremble all over. She hated herself for allowing him to see her like that.

"You see, sweetheart," Tom said, using his old nickname for her," I work for someone I think you might know. Ever heard of a man by the name of Jim Moriarty?"

She went cold. All color drained from her face. "M-Moriarty is d-dead."

"Mmm… Pretty convincing trick wasn't it?"

She squeezed her eyes tight, allowing a few tears to roll down her bruised cheeks. "No…" she whispered to herself.

"Here's how it's going to work, sweetheart, I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and you're going to answer them. Alright?"

The interrogation started immediately. Most of the questions were about Sherlock, some were about John, others about cases, Lestrade, and etc. They sounded an awful lot like the questions he usually asked when they were a "couple," but more in depth; and when she refused to answer, he would hit, slap, or kick her as punishment.

She was crying and hyperventilating. Her hair was sticking to her face because of the steady stream of tears flowing down her face. She had no reason to try and act brave. She was beyond scared. Every minute that went by without Sherlock bursting in to save her, felt like an eternity. She kept watching the door, waiting for him to step through and save her from this nightmare.

"What is Sherlock's favorite colour?"

Molly looked up at him, "… What?"

"You heard me, what's his favorite color? Come on, don't keep me waiting," Tom said in a cheerful tone of voice.

"That's a stupid question," Molly said, trying her luck.

"A specific one that Jim wants to know the answer to. So if you don't mind…" Tom said, a bit agitated now.

"Why would he want to know that?"

Tom slapped her with the back of his hand. "Just answer the _damn_ question, Molly!"

Molly gasped again. "Blue… I guess." she whispered. Sherlock had never told her his favorite colour. It really was a guess.

The questions continued. She did not answer most and answered others vaguely or with, "I don't know."

By about the fourth blow to the head, she was knocked out. Again.

* * *

She woke up in another room. This one did not have a desk. It had the same white cinderblock walls as the other, it also had a few pipes running along the low part of the far wall like the other one had had, and it had the same grey concrete floors. It was also freezing

This one, instead of having a desk, had a twin size mattress sitting on the floor in the corner.

She was lying on the mattress. Her handcuffs were wrapped around the pipe a few feet behind her head. Her feet were also chained down to opposite sides of the bed. Her face felt hot and swollen…

She looked down at her body and froze.

_Oh my God!_

She was completely naked.

The door opened. Tom came in, gripping a bottle of vodka. Almost too drunk to function…

He set the bottle down and began to strip. He then said, slurring every word, "This'is frr all those times you told me'no! I gave yew a fockin' ring! Jeem told meh yew wer easy! God, I've nd'd this frr a long time. Ahh.."

She understood something about "ring", "Jim", "easy", and "needed"… Her mind was still fuzzy.

He laid himself on top of Molly. She tried to wiggle around but her body had been stretched to prevent her from moving. She whimpered. He engulfed her mouth with his, muffling her crying.

She bit him hard.

He jerked back and yelled, "You bitch!" Spitting blood on her face, as he talked.

He then slapped her, causing her to yelp.

He laughed and said "That's more like it. Wouldn't mind if you kept making that sound as'matter o' fact." This time, when he kissed her, she did not bite him.

He began to grope at her body. Squeezing so hard that it physically hurt her.

_I'm about to be raped… I can't believe this… Where's Sherlock? _She thought to herself.

He positioned himself and began.

It was one of the most painful things Molly had ever endured. With each thrust of his hips, she felt a surge of pure pain ripple throughout her body. Her skin forming bruises where he was squeezing her, making it even more painful. Tears ran down her face without stopping, only letting out a few sobs every once in a while.

He grabbed her breast at one point and squeezed until she cried out in pain. He enjoyed it. He had to continue hurting her and becoming more forceful to get her to continue to cry out. She eventually began to cry out even at things that didn't hurt as bad just so he would stop hurting her as much. She absolutely hated herself for this. For being so weak that she would be willing to do that. She was in pain though. She wanted this to be over as soon as possible.

Tom immediately fell asleep after he had finished. With him on top of her, asleep, she sent out a silent prayer. "Please… please… Let him notice I'm gone. Let him find me. Let him save me… Sherlock… Please…"

* * *

She didn't know how long she had been here in hell. It could have been days, weeks, months. There was no form of night and day here. There were no windows. The only time she slept was when he knocked her out.

She tried not to look at her body. She knew it looked bad. She had been beaten up and down, leaving bruises all over. She had been whipped with a whip, leaving scars, scabs, and open wounds on her back and on her legs. Her left eye was swollen shut due to a punch in the face she got maybe a day ago. She knew her lip had a cut on it because she could taste the blood every time it split again.

She woke up once again in the twin bed. Tom was sitting in the corner, drinking. He saw her wake up. He didn't do anything for a while, just occasionally took a sip of his drink.

He was such a sick bastard. She wondered, though, if torturing another human being was beginning to affect him in any way. Maybe the alcohol was a way to deal with seeing someone suffer as much as she had in the past few "days?" He would always drink while they were dating, but it was never excessive. Molly wondered if this was a new development.

He eventually got up and began to take his clothes off.

This time, he did not have to try to get her to cry out in pain. Her body was so sore and tired. Just him, lying on top of her, was enough to make her scream. Some of the slowly healing scars reopened under the pressure of his weight on top of her.

* * *

This seemed endless. It feels like she had been here an eternity. The torture went on for ages along with the questions he would ask. She lost count at how many times he had raped her. He had given up on the fetishes, she was much too weak to do much screaming.

She knew she was probably going to die down here. He had told her who he worked for. He obviously didn't think she would see the light of day ever again. She didn't know how long it would take for her to die. She didn't think she had much longer. She had had a large amount of blood loss, a few broken bones, recurring blows to the head probably will eventually cause brain damage if it hasn't already. Injection of unknown origins, some causing her to pass out, others causing her to have panic attacks. Being raped had to be the worst of it all though. It was so painful and humiliating. If she lived, she would have to be checked for various diseases… a pregnancy test. _Oh god… _she thought to herself…

_Where is Sherlock? Why wasn't he here? Did he hear about my case and just dismiss it for being too boring for him to worry about? Did he not even give my case the time of day? He doesn't care enough about me to even save me from this maniac… _

Molly began to whimper again and cry. Sherlock, the man she loved so much, let her down. She was so stupid for thinking she actually meant something to him. He had been playing her that day he came to her, as usual. He didn't care about her, she didn't mean anything to him.

She never looked at the door anymore. She knew he wasn't coming. She had been here far too long. He should have been able to figure this out by now. Her heart had all but shattered, thinking like this. Deep down within her, she still had a small sliver of hope though.

* * *

Two days later (maybe), when she woke up in the mattress room again, her hope had turned towards wishing for death to just take her already. She was sore all over. She noticed that she had slimmed down some. She couldn't tell if she had any more cuts or bruises since the last time she looked. She had so many it was hard to tell.

Tom walked in. He had no drink with him, which was rare.

She couldn't handle being raped again… She begged for something to happen. To die, to go into a coma, to pass out, anything.

She felt something… It was a small tugging feeling in the back of her mind. She silently watched Tom undress with her eye that wasn't swollen shut. She felt herself slipping away. She didn't know if she was dying. She might be… That wouldn't be so bad… She would at least not have to suffer through being raped again. She'd never get to see her friends again. She'd never get to see her family. Her cat would be put in a pound. She realized that no one else knew about Moriarty. Sherlock… He needed to know! She had to warn him! She couldn't just lie down here and die!

But the more she panicked the more she felt the tugging. It was all she felt now. The sensation that she was falling. She could still see everything around her but she knew she was close to the end. She looked at Tom, one last time.

She vaguely heard something outside the door. Tom spun around to see what it was, only in his boxers. The door flew open and Molly locked eyes with Sherlock Holmes right before they closed for good.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Ahh! Did Sherlock make it in time?! What took him so long?! What will become of Tom?! Poor Molly!**

**Once again, I'm sorry to anyone who was made upset by this chapter. Really, I am. Thanks for the views! Please review! Please, Please, Please! I need advice and opinions! Plus, it wouldn't help to get a little more encouragement to continue with this fan fiction!**

**It might take me a while to post the next chapter, I'm still tweaking it. Love you all, and thanks again! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:**

**Hello All!**

**I'm sorry it took so long to update! This chapter is considerably longer than the previous ones! I **_**have**_** to thank the people that reviewed last time! Omg, y'all are SO sweet, I love you! Also the people that have favorited or followed, thank you so much! It really means a lot to me!**

**I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint anyone or make anyone mad. The next chapter will be updated as soon as possible, I promise. Really. Please don't freak out when you get to the end!**

**I do not own Sherlock!**

* * *

Chapter 5

He looked at the lifeless body lying on the mattress. Could that really be Molly? His precious little Molly?

She was completely naked. Her entire body was a bruise, not being able to tell one bruise from another. She had thin but deep cuts up and down her legs and a few on her waist and arms. Her arm had small circular bruises where she had been poked and prodded with needles. Her face had only a few bruises on it but her eye had been swollen shut. The left side of her upper lip had a cut on it. Her wrists and ankles had blood dripping down them from being handcuffed for so long.

She was stretched out on top of a mattress. Her hair was fanned out around her in a tangled mess but was still beautiful. Her lips were swollen from Tom's greedy mouth. She had bite marks on her neck and breasts- again, from Tom's greedy mouth. She had lost weight as well.

She was looking at him with her un-swollen eye. Her face was full of panic, sorrow, and exhaustion.

_Oh my God, No… _Sherlock thought. His eyes- which were filled with determination and a ferocity that would make a lion cower, only moments before- were now filled with such intense sorrow. His eyes glowed red from the burn of tears threatening to escape. _How could someone do this to my Molly? _

This was his fault. It took him so long to figure out this stupid case. He should have been here earlier. He should have saved her from this. To say he felt guilty would be an extreme understatement. He was drowning in it. It cloaked any good emotion left in him.

His hand quickly covered his agape mouth while a tear trailed down his face. Her eyes finally closed- not opening again. Sherlock's eyes shifted to the figure standing a few meters from Molly's body, his hand dropped to his side once more.

The ferocity that once filled his eyes returned tenfold.

* * *

Two days after Sherlock went to Bart's and asked Molly that _ridiculous _question, he ended up needing to go there again to run some tests on a dead man's hair. While he walked there, he wondered if he should apologize for asking such a personal question the other day.

He decided against it. They were friends, she didn't mind him asking questions like that.

When he got to the lab, he looked around and Molly wasn't there, some other person was in there. A young man, in fact. Sherlock automatically jumped to the conclusion that it was Tom but then noticed that he was wearing a lab coat and was rummaging through some files. John had said Tom was a business man or a lawyer or something. He wouldn't have been wearing a lab coat. And he certainly wouldn't be in Molly's lab without her in there.

He walked to the locker room and she was not in there either.

He checked his watch. It was 9:04 A.M. It was much too early for lunch.

He went to the head of the Morgue, Dr. Brighton, to see if Molly had called in sick. She had.

Frustrated and annoyed, Sherlock stomped out of the hospital. He refused to work with anyone besides Molly.

The next day, the same thing happened except the young man was not in the lab anymore. He went into the morgue and worked on his experiment without anyone else in there.

When Sherlock was about halfway done, Molly's boss was walking by and noticed Sherlock. He walked in and said, "Sherlock, I-"

"Busy," Sherlock said. Ugh. Molly would know not to interrupt him like this.

"Sherlock, Doctor Hooper isn't here today. While I'm fine with you being here, helping with cases, I can't allow you here by yourself without clearance."

Sherlock looked up from his microscope. Burning holes into the stupid man. How dare he interfere with his work.

"I-I'm sorry, Sherlock, but It's-"

"Fine." Sherlock interrupted him. He stood up and grabbed his coat and scarf from the table. He walked out the door without saying another word. He had had enough of this. He needed his pathologist back. Now. He pulled out his mobile phone.

YOUR ILLNESSES ARE TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT

FOR ME RIGHT NOW. YOU NEED TO RETURN TO

BART'S BY TOMORROW WHETHER YOU FEEL

BETTER OR NOT. A CASE IS ON THE LINE!

-SH

He thought about the message for a moment. He decided to send another.

THOUGH, I DO HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER.

-SH

A few hours passed and she hadn't messaged back. Any time he ever texted Molly she always texted back. She usually texted back within minutes, never being busy.

* * *

He was with John, later that day, waiting for a possible witness to pass by at a particular section of the park. Sherlock asked if he had heard from Molly.

"No, last time I talked to her was a few days ago. She said you acted sort of strange the other day," John said to Sherlock, with a kind of curious face.

"She wasn't at Bart's yesterday or today," Sherlock said coolly.

"Maybe she's sick," John said.

"Perhaps, but she hasn't texted me back."

"She might be asleep."

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment.

"You could go check on her, y'know," John said.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. He stayed quiet for a while, thinking. He abruptly stood up, said, "Great idea," and then walked off.

"What? Sherlock! What about the case?" John said while jumping up to catch up with Sherlock.

"The case?" Sherlock said, having to raise his voice for John to hear "The case cannot possibly go on without our dear pathologist, John!"

They arrived at her flat within half an hour. Sherlock knocked on the door loudly.

No answer.

Knocked again even louder.

No answer.

Sherlock knelt down and began to work at the lock.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked exasperated.

"Going to see Molly," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"No, no, no, no, no. Sherlock. You can't just break into some woman's flat." John said, rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache.

Sherlock, still kneeling down, spun to face John. "She is not just some woman, John. She is our pathologist and our friend."

John was almost taken aback by Sherlock's sudden lashing out. "You still can't just break into her flat! It's creepy and _illegal._"

Sherlock, no longer looking at John, was back at picking the lock, "Irrelevant. She could be hurt or in need of our care."

John looked at Sherlock, absolutely baffled. What had gotten into his friend?

"Sherlock, has it occurred to you that she might be over at Tom's?" trying to reason with his sociopath of a friend.

Sherlock stopped for a moment. He cut his eyes at John for a split second, took a deep breath, and then said, "Better to check."

He stood up and opened the door and walked in.

John rolled his eyes, stood there for a moment, and then finally followed Sherlock into the flat.

"Molly?" said Sherlock. "Hello?"

He found a line of hooks on the wall and hung his coat and scarf on it. Not thinking twice about it.

He had never been in her flat. It was surprisingly nicely decorated. Yes, a little quirky but still nice. There was a cat sitting on the yellow chair. It was a large grey cat with big yellow eyes. It flicked its tail back and forth lazily. "Hello," Sherlock said to the cat.

He then, looked at the coffee table. There were two cups of tea barely drunk. He touched the cup: cold. Stuck a finger in the tea: room temperature. Put it in his mouth: green tea. He knew she liked to drink this at night, due to their late night experiments at the lab.

John was still standing in the doorway, looking around. He looked awkward standing there.

Sherlock found the tea odd. There were two lamps on in the living room. One of the pillows from her grey/blue couch had fallen to the floor. It had landed too far away from the couch for it to have just fallen. It had to have been thrown or dragged. Odd again. Especially since the rest of the apartment looked well organized.

Sherlock walked into the hall. Opened one door. It was a bathroom. Very clean and tidy. No toothbrush or other personal hygiene products other than soap for the sink. This was obviously a secondary bathroom.

He found her bedroom. Light grey walls with a purple comforter on her bed. Simple but nice. She hadn't made her bed. He walked into the bathroom. He found her toothbrush. He rubbed his thumb along the bristles. Dry and hard. She hasn't been here for at least a day and a half, presuming she brushed her teeth at least twice a day. He walked back into her bedroom and rummaged through her closet. He found an empty suitcase. She hadn't gone on holiday…

He finally walked back to the front of the flat. John was now sitting in one of the chairs at her dining room table. "Are you done yet?"

"Not quite." Sherlock walked back into the living room. He saw a book opened about halfway and facing down to keep the page on the side table next to the couch. He flipped it over, it stayed perfectly still. It had gone stiff from sitting there for so long.

"Molly hasn't been here for a few days." Sherlock said.

John looked up at him, paused a while, and said, "She might be staying at Tom's place for a few days."

"Her suitcase is in her closet and her toothbrush is in her bathroom still," Sherlock said, pointing towards her bedroom.

John frowned at Sherlock, "You went through her closet? Sherlock, you can't just do that!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Quit being an idiot for a moment and listen to me!" His heart began to pound in his ears.

"I don't know. She has been engaged to the man. She may have some clothes and other things at his place.

"Why would she own two toothbrushes?" Sherlock asked. "And that still doesn't explain why she hasn't answered her phone."

John spoke to him trying to urge his naïve friend to understand him, "They might be busy."

"Doing what?"

John just looked at him. Oh, he was such an idiot sometimes. "He might be tending to her cold or whatever it is she has."

Sherlock huffed. Frustrated that John wasn't as alert about this as he was. He walked into the kitchen. He saw that the cat's food bowl and water bowl were empty. He turned to look at John, pointing at the bowl. "Molly? Sweet little Molly leaving her cat to starve?"

John looked at the bowl quizzically.

Sherlock continued to search the kitchen. He found a bag of cat food and put a handful of it in the cat's bowl, then poured water from the tap into its bowl.

His eyes caught on a bright blue box in the corner of his eye. It was Molly's Phone. It was sitting next to the kettle. He grabbed it and held it up for John to see.

John froze.

Sherlock set the phone down on the counter, His hands were beginning to tremble. He didn't want John to see him shake like that. He pressed his hands down against the counter firmly, trying to steady them.

He finally picked up the phone and looked through it. His messages were unopened. She had six missed messages and five missed calls. Some, trying to make plans…

The only message she had sent was the one to work and it had been sent the night after Sherlock visited Molly in the lab, stating that she wouldn't make it to work because she was coming down with the flu. He looked around. She had no tissues, cough syrup, thermometers, or anything to prove that she had been ill.

John was finally catching on. "I'm calling Greg right now."

Sherlock just shook his head and looked off, fiddling his fingers.

"Yes, hello?"

…

-"Yeah, it's urgent."

…

-"It's about Molly. She's gone."

…

-"…We're actually already here…"

…

-"Yeah, Sherlock has already looked."

…

-"It's been over 24 hours."

…

-"Does Tom know?"

….

"What?"

…

"Well, find him!"

Sherlock's head snapped up to look at John. Sherlock looked through Molly's contacts and found Tom's number. He called, no answer.

Tried again. No answer.

Sherlock's hands were trembling uncontrollably. John, luckily, wasn't paying attention. Sherlock turned away from him. He pressed his hands against the counter again. He shut his eyes tight and tried to control his breathing.

"Sherlock, you're not going to believe this…"

Sherlock turned and briskly walked towards the hooks on the wall, catching John off guard. He grabbed his coat and scarf and walked out of the flat.

_He's been doing that a lot lately_, John thought to himself as he tried to catch up with Sherlock.

* * *

They arrived at Bart's Hospital about twenty minutes later.

On the cab ride there, Sherlock stared out the window. He tightened and untightened his jaw repeatedly. His breathing was deep and unsteady. He tried to control it but fear and anger were getting to him. He had his hands in a tight grip, though no longer trembling.

John looked at Sherlock with deep concern. He did hope this was a huge misunderstanding. He loved Molly. Molly was a great friend to him. He regretted pushing her away after Sherlock's fall. He knew she wanted to try and be there for him but he couldn't bare being reminded of his old life at that time. He hoped he would get the chance to apologize to her.

Sherlock strode into the hospital one long stride at a time; John right at his heals, as always. They found the business office.

"I need all the records you have on Tom…?" Sherlock said then looked a John.

John rolled his eyes and said, "Macklemore."

Sherlock, speaking to only John now, said, "Macklemore? For God's sake… Molly Macklemore. That should be enough of a reason to not marry someone."

The woman with the nametag reading 'Donna' said, "I'm sorry, who?"

Sherlock flashed her one of Lastrade's badges and said, "Tom Macklemore. Need to know everything you've got on him."

She tapped on her keyboard for a few heartbeats. "I'm sorry but is this supposed to be a patient or a worker? Because this shows me we have no one here with that name."

Sherlock froze and stared at her for a moment, not saying anything. He was making her very uncomfortable, but he was sifting through his mind palace to come up with anything he could go on. "We need all access to the surveillance footage."

"What? Why? She was most likely abducted from her apartment, Sherlock. Even I worked that out."

"Good for you," Sherlock turned to John to say this.

He then turned back to the woman. "So, the surveillance footage?"

Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and 6 other pathetically useless people were all sitting in a room, staring at a total of 45 screens playing out. Sherlock told them he needed the footage from the wing where the morgue was over the course of the past two days.

* * *

Before they started, Sherlock gave brief instructions, "If you could find it convenient in your dull minds to use the full capacity of them to try and notice something in these videos, it would be greatly appreciated. We can't afford to miss anything and I do not need any stupid, incapable people standing in my way to find her."

John cleared his throat loudly to notify Sherlock that that was not good. He decided not to say anything though, seeing the worry in his friend's eyes.

The random six people exchanged looks with each other while Greg tried to give them more instructions, "Basically, if you see someone acting suspicious (looking around too often, putting their hand on their hip every now and then, anything) point it out. If there is a screen that goes black for even the smallest amount of time, point it out. No detail is too small. Oh, and if you see a man that looks similar to Sherlock, point it out."

Sherlock looked at him quizzically.

"He _does _look a lot like you."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He didn't really trust these people, except for John and Lestrade, but he needed to speak to Dr. Brighten about the man he saw in the lab the other day.

"Doctor Brighton, a word?"

"Yeah, sure," the older man in the green sweater vest said. Sherlock took a better look at this man. He had fur stuck to the knees of his trousers, indicating that he had a large dog. His shirt only had creases in the shoulder that caused them to poke out slightly, indicating he has his shirts up on hangers instead of folding them. He must have played the trumpet or plays the trumpet because of his right pinky being slightly crooked. He was short sighted. He had been on a trip to Germany in the past three to four months. He is allergic to strawberries. All in all a fairly boring yet respectable man.

"The day I asked you about why Doctor Hooper was not here, there was a young man in her lab. Can you identify him for me?"

Doctor Brighton looked at Sherlock for a moment, trying to think back to the other day.

"No, the only other men who ever work in that lab are Doctor Sheppard, Doctor Ramsey, and Doctor Brown. Doctor Sheppard and Doctor Ramsey are both in their late fifties or early sixties I believe and Doctor Brown was supposed to be off that day as well," he said rather too slowly for Sherlock's liking.

"May I see a photograph of Doctor Brown?"

"Y-yes, certainly," Doctor Brighton said while sifting through his computer. He stopped clicking, then turned the computer screen for Sherlock to see.

A slightly overweight black man stared back at him. "No, it's not him…"

Sherlock walked back to the room full of people staring at screens. He walked over to John, "Anything?"

John shook his head, "Not yet."

"Move it to yesterday at around 8:30 A.M. at the entrance of Doctor Hooper's Lab. We can start there. Notify someone when you see anyone go in or out."

John looked at Sherlock, "What's that about?"

Sherlock ignored his stupid question. He had to focus on what matters the most; the only thing that matters.

All of the screens switched to one of three different camera angles. There were only three different cameras on that hallway, which Sherlock already knew.

They watched and watched and watched. They saw Sherlock walk through the halls for a moment then after a while, they saw him leave. It even caught him looking into the lab at the person that was in there, but it never caught someone coming out. They watched for hours.

Sherlock eventually told them to replay it except to start earlier. They started it at 6 AM. Still nothing. No one going in, no one coming out.

They must have tampered with the footage. He needed to watch with a closer look. Sherlock stayed while the others started to leave one by one.

He asked to bring that bit of footage home with him. They allowed it. He watched it on his laptop over and over again. He finally found the small glitch in the footage. Small enough to fool _almost_ anyone. It was 2 AM when he found the glitch. He would definitely not be sleeping until he found Molly. The bastard left the lab at 9:11 AM. Sherlock phoned Mycroft.

Not caring that he was going to his brother for help, he said with a grin, "Hello, brother," when Mycroft answered with, "What the hell do you want?"

* * *

When Sherlock arrived at a building somewhere northeast of Covent Garden, it was almost 3:30 AM. He was escorted to the room with a couch and a telly. There was a man in there who operated the telly and would show Sherlock whatever he wanted from the city surveillance videos. There were three other people in there with a note pad to write down important details.

Before he looked up the film near St. Barts, he checked the ones near Molly's flat. Thirty different cameras had been tampered with near her flat.

_Ugh…_

He stayed there until he had a reliable idea of where Tom was headed through the streets. By the time he figured it out it was 4:43 AM. The other people in the room were nearly incompetent and slowed down the process of finding Molly.

He saw Tom walk into an alley.

Sherlock headed outside and hailed a taxi. He told the cabbie to head to a pub, which was near the alley Tom walked into.

An old homeless man sat behind his pile of things along the wall. Sherlock handed him a few quid and asked if he had seen a man that looked similar to himself. He had. He said that Tom had walked by and asked for his green scarf. He ended up trading his scarf for Tom's new, warmer, grey one. Sherlock went through the tunnels, asking others. He changed his outfit almost completely.

Since Sherlock was already here, he needed John to get to the footage.

He called John at 6:30 AM, not having time to text. John answered with a gruff voice.

"Go outside, and wait for the car. Call me when you have been caught up and are ready for instructions."- _Beep_

Sherlock called Mycroft, "Send John a car, he needs to look at the footage for me while I'm out here."

"Are you going to make a ha-"

-_Beep_

About half an hour later, John called Sherlock.

"Look at the alley near the pub on Cloth Fair and look for a man exiting with a grey trench coat and a green scarf. He will also be wearing a black fedora. He will be leaving the premises between 9:45 and 10:25."

After about eight minutes, John spotted him leaving the alley.

"Which way was he headed?"

"He… He's headed… towards Long Ln" said John, trying to speak quickly because he knew Sherlock was losing his patience.

Sherlock began to walking.

"He's turning left down the alley between the bank and the little restaurant."

Sherlock turned.

Saw only one homeless person. A young woman, Sherlock asked if she had seen Tom. She said that he traded his coat for her dark orange poncho.

This went on all day. John was becoming weary but Sherlock was relentless. He hadn't slept or eaten anything since he realized Molly was gone. Which, really wasn't that long compared to his record. The path that Tom led was ever twisting and confusing. Sherlock had to stop a few times and figure bits of it out but eventually pressed on. It seemed to have no end. Sherlock wondered if Tom knew that he would search for her this obsessively…

Tom ended up sleeping in one alley overnight. An old woman told Sherlock that she let Tom borrow her extra blanket for the night. She could tell he was recently homeless due to the state of his shoes. They were new. Sherlock admired her deduction. For each homeless person he got information from, he handed them a few quid. He ended up giving the old woman a few extra.

The trail ended up splitting into a few different directions. There were two different men in similar attire in the same general area. Sherlock went to both, asking about his shoes. One said they were relatively new, the other didn't know. He followed both trails, one lead to the subway, the other lead to a taxi.

It was 1:00 AM the next day when John decided to go to bed. He said his eyes were starting to get tired and that most of the homeless people they needed to talk to were asleep anyway.

Although it annoyed Sherlock, he did need to go home to recharge his phone. While it was charging, he went out and bought an extremely large map of London. He went home and pinned it to his wall. He circled each place that Tom went through with a red marker and connected them. When the path became quizzical, he used a purple and blue marker for the two different paths. He snuck pictures with his mobile of the people he spoke to at each place. He printed each picture, added the different change of clothes to the back of each, and pinned the picture to the right spot on the map.

He knew he could remember everything easily since he had added everything into his mind palace, already. But he needed something to focus on besides the possibility of Molly being dead or hurt. He also enjoyed visual aids.

He finished the web within an hour. Red drenched the map. Sherlock sat in front of it, trying to study the pattern; if there actually was one. He went through the various descriptions trying to figure out anything he could that would reveal his final destination.

Sherlock wondered what his motive was. He didn't know if it had anything to do with him or not. He knew he had a lot of enemies. Was it to hurt him? To get information? Or just a psychopath wanting to hurt his Molly? Sherlock couldn't be sure of that, of course. Which he hated. He began to think about what could possibly be happening to Molly at this very moment and he began to tremble as anger and fear washed over him.

Trembling from anger wasn't new to Sherlock, but it never happened this often. Almost every time he even thought about Molly he began to tremble in some way; whether it was with anger, fear, desire, etc. The last one still angered him but he hardly cared about that at the moment. All that mattered was the case. All that mattered was Molly's safety.

"John, what if I can't solve it this time?" Sherlock asked; his voice was shaky and pleading. His eyes started turning red, threatening to spill a tear but never doing so.

After realizing he was by himself, he was glad John hadn't heard him say that. But soon after, he was washed over with a new sadness from being all alone.

* * *

The search went on for days, ending with most likely a dead end.

Sherlock and John were both in the lab; John was sitting on a stool, awaiting orders from Sherlock. Sherlock was going from looking through paper work to looking through a microscope; acting frantic.

John was watching Sherlock work on a part of the case he didn't quite understand yet.

Sherlock had dark circles under his eyes and they were red. He had lost color in his face and it looked like he had dropped a few pounds. His hair looked wilder than usual. His hands were shaking, but just barely. John knew that Sherlock did not eat or sleep much during cases, but there was something more this time.

John got up and walked out the door. Sherlock did not even notice that he had left. He was so close to a breakthrough, he could feel it. It was _right there. _

John brought back an apple and set it next to Sherlock. "Eat it."

Without even looking, Sherlock said, "John, you know I do-"

"Eat the damn apple, Sherlock," John said, sounding frustrated and slightly worried.

Sherlock looked up at him this time.

"You aren't acting like your usual self. You look like death warmed up. It might be affecting your work so just do me a favor and eat the apple," John said exasperated.

Sherlock stared at John for a few moments then slowly reached for the apple and took a bite. He finished the apple within a few minutes.

John didn't notice Sherlock's behavior change much, but was glad he had something to eat.

Once they got to Sherlock's flat, John practically forced Sherlock to go to bed as if he were a child. It was only 9:00 PM but John knew Sherlock hadn't slept for more than a few hours (if at all) in the past four nights.

"Sherlock, you NEED to sleep, this is ridiculous. You're not acting right, you look awful. Go to sleep for at least eight hours if not more," John said to Sherlock, trying to reason with him.

Sherlock threw a tantrum, stating that it was important that he solve the case and that he wasn't a child. John argued that Sherlock was not at his best state of mind and needed to rest in order to help Molly.

Sherlock huffed then retreated to his bedroom. John stayed the night, and tried to look through all the data to try and help. He went to sleep on the couch at maybe 11:00PM.

Nightmares filled Sherlock's first few hours of sleep. It was filled with Molly being dead on the side of the road somewhere. Molly crying for Sherlock to save her. Of Sherlock finally reaching her, but being too late. He woke up twice in a cold sweat in the process- Molly's scream still ringing through his ears both times. He didn't bother taking a shower before going back to sleep; he did not really care anymore.

He was honestly exhausted. He needed his Molly back. He could never not solve this case. He didn't care how long it took, he would never stop. This case was so different compared to the others he had taken. The fact that it was Molly made it harder to solve for some reason. He couldn't focus. He had so many things running through his head, he couldn't sort them. They didn't make since. Adding in this to an infinite amount of worry, guilt, and grief was causing him to lose his mind.

The nightmares finally passed and exhaustion took over. He had fallen into a deep sleep. He woke up at 12:00 PM the next day. He was furious at John for letting him sleep so long. It added up to a total of fourteen hours, factoring in the times he woke up from nightmares. When he walked out, John was sitting at the desk, studying some papers and Mrs. Hudson was bringing in a pot of tea and a plate full of biscuits. Sherlock drank three cups of tea and ate four biscuits. They tasted fantastic, after not eating for the past few days. He then wondered if Molly was being fed, wherever she was. Then, he felt guilty for eating while she couldn't.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Ah! So… what happens? I hardly answered any questions?! How rude of me. I know, I know, I am truly sorry for that guys, I just thought it would be a good idea to see how Sherlock solved the case (even though technically he hasn't solved it yet) and how he was acting **_**during**_** the case. He's worried. Can you tell? I hope so because that was kind of the point of this.**

**This chapter was sooo hard to write! I have never been to London (despite my insistent prayers to be able to go someday); I don't know the layout very well, so please bear with me. Ha! If this was hard to follow, I'm really sorry! Also, deductions are hard… SO hard. Oh my gosh. Plus, I have a cut on the tip of my index finger, so typing hurts. That's one reason this chapter took a while.**

**I would really really really like some reviews please! I need to know your opinions. The next chapter is written… halfway… in my mind. I promise I'm going to work on it ASAP! I love you guys! Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:**

**Wow! So… I know it has taken me forever to update. I'm really really sorry! To be honest, I wrote this chapter about three different times. It never came out the way I liked it. This one… well… I don't know. You'll just have to read it! Thank you to everyone who followed and favorited! I received a threat in my reviews that stated that if I kill Molly off, he or she is going to find me and kill me… So… You will know by the end of this chapter whether or not Molly and I continue to live. Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate them! Even the scary ones! **

**I do not own Sherlock!**

* * *

Chapter 6

Tom's flat had been completely gutted and wiped clean of any sort of evidence. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes could find anything.

The neighbors had been interrogated. He kept to himself. They didn't even notice he had moved out. The landlady said that he paid his rent on time in cash, never had any complaints, and never caused any sort of problems. His "parents" were nowhere to be found. His 'job' at Bart's was nonexistent. He kept nothing of his own at Molly's flat, so there wasn't much to go on.

Sherlock had taken in Molly's cat while she could not be there to feed him. He did not know the cat's name so he just called it Cat until he decided on the name Hamlet. The cat would not answer to Hamlet at first, but after a day or so he reluctantly played along with the temporary name.

The case felt cold. It had been thirteen days since he had seen Molly.

Whoever this man was, that had stolen Molly, had known what he was doing. The surveillance maze had hit a dead end. There were far too many possible outcomes for them to even have a chance at figuring out his current location.

Sherlock had not slept or eaten since John forced tea and biscuits down his throat. He felt defeated. He felt lost. He felt alone.

He couldn't give up. When he came to her for help almost three years ago, she did not back down and she performed flawlessly. Now that she needed him, he could _not_ give up. He had to save her.

He was constantly pacing in his flat, staring at his wall. His wall was now completely covered in newspaper articles, notes that he had written, photographs, samples, maps, and red strings connecting them all. His eyes were wild, his hair was wild from running his fingers through it so many times, and his hands were constantly moving. He was on edge at all times. His frustration was growing by the minute. The guilt, the anger, and the depression were all eating him up inside. It consumed him. It was all that he was. How could he have let someone do this to Molly? He let jealousy and stupidity cloud his ability to see the signs.

He thought back to a few months ago. Molly had been wearing a jumper even though it had been fairly warm outside. He was avoiding looking at her, if at all possible. He couldn't let human weakness take over. He was on a case at the time and didn't need Molly getting in the way with her petite frame and her long hair that smelled like grapefruit and chamomile. Another woman walked in and grabbed Molly's arm to get her attention. Molly flinched at the touch. Her arm; it had been hurt. Tom had been hurting her before he kidnapped her, and Sherlock did nothing. Sherlock, being an idiot, didn't notice at the time. He should have noticed, he should have kept her safe from him. God, he was such an idiot!

He grabbed a chair that was sitting at the desk, and threw it towards the kitchen, screaming in frustration. He kicked John's chair over, along with the small table sitting next to it.

"Sherlock Holmes, you better not be making a mess up there!" yelled Mrs. Hudson from down stairs.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance at Mrs. Hudson's outburst. He flipped a book off his desk for good measure. He stuck another nicotine patch on his arm and laid down on the couch, creating a steeple with his hands. He needed to calm down and work on the case at the same time; using his mind palace was his best bet at accomplishing both.

After a few minutes, Hamlet hopped up onto Sherlock's stomach and curled himself into a little ball. Sherlock smirked at the brave cat, and allowed him to stay.

Due to the paths from the homeless people maze, Sherlock was certain that he was still in Central London and north of the river. A few days after Sherlock went through the homeless maze, he bought a new coat and exchanged it for Tom's original coat. Sherlock remembered smelling alcohol on the old man and didn't want him using money to contribute to his habit. He later realized that the old man had no alcohol or empty bottles around him, and he himself did not smell that strongly of alcohol. Tom had been the drinker… interesting.

In the past few days Sherlock had memorized the layout of London, _again. _He also memorized the names of the buildings, and various details of them, such as owners, previous owners, previous businesses, current businesses, what they sold, etc. Things that weren't relevant but could be relevant. Anything that would indicate a hideout. There were various options of course but Sherlock had to narrow it down. If he went through every abandoned building or potential hideout, Tom might get word about it and flee to another area.

While he was picturing his mind palace (the library section of it), his mind showed Molly approach him. His tired mind must have been slipping away into sleep. But only barely.

Sherlock set the book he was holding on the shelf when he saw Molly.

She stood only inches away from him; her face was so sad and tired. She raised her hand up and placed it gently on his cheek. He blissfully closed his eyes and covered her hand with his own.

"Sherlock…" Molly whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Molly, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I- I should have been there, I should have stopped him, I-"

"Shh… It's going to be alright…" Molly said, still whispering, and wiped away a tear that escaped his eye.

They continued to stare at each other…

Sherlock was so engrossed in his daydream, he did not notice John walk in.

"Sherl-" John said while stepping in. He saw that Sherlock was in his "mind palace" and that "Hamlet" was curled up on his stomach. John grinned at this, took out his phone, and took a picture. He was about to send Lestrade the picture when he saw the mess Sherlock had earlier made. He was scanning the damage when his eye caught on something on the far wall.

_What the hell? Did Sherlock do this?_

"Sherlock."

…

"Sherlock!"

Hamlet looked at him, annoyed at his shouting.

John kicked Sherlock's leg lightly.

"Go away. Thinking." Sherlock finally said.

"Sherlock, did you do this?"

Sherlock's eyes popped open. He sat up quickly, Hamlet jumped away from him. He was about to explain to John that he did not have time for him, when he saw it. Past John, there was a message painted across the far wall in elegant cursive.

BETTER HURRY, SHERLOCK. MOLLY'S WAITING.

It was written in blue paint. Someone had snuck in and painted this while Sherlock was in his mind palace. He didn't even notice. How could he have not noticed?

He stared at the cryptic message on the wall for half a heartbeat more.

He gasped. He knew. He knew where she was. For some bizarre reason, someone left him a clue, and he figured it out. He looked at John… and smiled.

"John I- I know where she is… I solved it…" Sherlock said quietly, relief finally taking over him. This manic state he had been in had washed away. Until he realized she was still in danger. She wasn't safe yet. He had to go to her. Now.

He ran down stairs and hailed a cab. John barely got into the taxi in time. Sherlock screamed an address at the cabby and for him to hurry.

On the ride there, John watched Sherlock with worry written all across his face. Worry for Molly and worry for Sherlock. Sherlock looked as if he were ready to kill anyone and anything that stood in his way. He was breathing deeply and his hands ranged from shaking uncontrollably, tapping on his knee, and running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. Adrenalin was pumping through him at an alarming rate. John, himself, had his own adrenalin pumping through him. He was ready for a fight if it came to that, but he was so worried about Molly. It had nearly been two weeks since she had been kidnapped. There was no telling what Tom had been doing to her. He prayed to God that she was ok. John wondered what had gotten into his sociopath of a friend. Usually when he was angry like this, he had an icy cold expression on his face. A calm hiding the storm underneath. That expression was usually terrifying, but this was not the same expression. This was… manic. These were the frenzied uncontained emotions of Sherlock. This was far more terrifying than the cold, collected expression. John did not understand and was scared for his friend.

They arrived at an old, abandoned building. John had phoned Greg while they were in the taxi. The police arrived right as Sherlock and John stepped out of the car. Lestrade walked up to Sherlock who was already headed towards the entrance.

"Where're you headed?" Lestrade yelled out to Sherlock.

"Basement!" Yelled Sherlock as he began to run towards the building.

Sherlock was moving as fast as he could. He found the stairs and began to descend them. He was so close to finding Molly, he was so close to finding Tom. Tom… The one who started this mess. The one who had taken Molly away from Sherlock in more ways than one. If he laid a hand on her, Sherlock was going to make him suffer. Anger built up in him that exceeded any other emotion. He had held so much pain in his heart for the past few weeks, he was going to make Tom pay no matter what.

John was right on his heel, as always, trying to keep up with Sherlock's longer strides. His anger, along with his worry, were building up inside of him as well.

They reached a long hallway. It had about twenty doors on each side. The fluorescent lights above were all on. Sherlock put a finger up to his lips when John looked at him. Most of the doorknobs were coated in dust. They quickly examined each doorknob quickly. As they moved towards the end of the hallway, Sherlock noticed there were no exits on this side. They found a doorknob without dust on it. Without thinking, Sherlock kicked the door open. John drew his gun. The room was empty except for a desk sitting in the middle.

_Damn. _Sherlock thought to himself.

The doorknob right next to that one did not have any dust on it either. He quickly kicked it open as well.

Everything he had been imagining the past few days, in no way could have prepared him for what he was seeing now.

He looked at the lifeless body lying on the mattress. Could that really be Molly? His precious little Molly?

She was completely naked. Her entire body was a bruise, not being able to tell one bruise from another. She had thin but deep cuts up and down her legs and a few on her waist and arms. Her arm had small circular bruises where she had been poked and prodded with needles. Her face had only a few bruises on it but her eye had been swollen shut. The left side of her upper lip had a cut on it. Her wrists and ankles had blood dripping down them from being handcuffed for so long.

She was stretched out on top of a mattress. Her hair was fanned out around her in a tangled mess but was still beautiful. Her lips were swollen from Tom's greedy mouth. She had bite marks on her neck and breasts- again, from Tom's greedy mouth. She had lost weight as well.

She was looking at him with her un-swollen eye. Her face was full of panic, sorrow, and exhaustion.

_Oh my God, No… _Sherlock thought. His eyes, which were filled with determination and a ferocity that would make a lion cower only moments before, were now filled with such intense sorrow. His eyes glowed red from the burn of tears threatening to escape. _How could someone do this to my Molly? _

This was his fault. It took him so long to figure out this stupid case. He should have been here earlier. He should have saved her from this.

His hand quickly covered his agape mouth while a tear trailed down his face. Her eyes finally closed- not opening again. Sherlock's eyes shifted to the figure standing a few yards from Molly's body, his hand dropping to his side once more.

Tom was standing there like an idiot, looking surprised and scared. He was only wearing his pants. Sherlock's mind was in shock but he was still able to comprehend what had happened. She had been raped. For the past thirteen days, this man in front of Sherlock had been touching her without her permission, beaten her without mercy, and raped her without remorse. She might be dying right now, and Sherlock couldn't help her. It would be too late. He couldn't take away all the horrible things Tom had done to her, he could never comfort her enough to make up for what he had done. Even if she did survive, she would never forgive Sherlock for taking so long. He was too late.

Sherlock let out a yell filled with a white hot rage. Without a second thought, Sherlock kicked Tom square in the chest, and sent him flying back. Within a fraction of a second, Sherlock was on top of Tom. Tom was completely caught off guard. Sherlock punched Tom in the gut continuously, causing the air to be knocked out of him. He then proceeded to brake three of his ribs and his collar bone (possibly puncturing a lung). Sherlock, still screaming in anger, began to punch Tom in the face repeatedly. Blood was gushing out of his nose, it began to coat Sherlock's hands. Tom was knocked out within the first few moments of the fight, but Sherlock did not stop. His rage flooded him. He wanted Tom to pay for ever doing this to his Molly.

If John had been the one being tortured, it would have been different. Sherlock would have taken one look at Tom, and shot him in cold blood- not being able to hold back. This was different. He was able to think things out more. He didn't want Tom dead. Not yet. He wanted him to suffer for as long as possible and in the most gruesome ways. With the way Sherlock was hitting him, though, he may not live long enough to suffer the adequate amount. His lung _was_ punctured and he was suffering from internal bleeding along with external bleeding. Sherlock didn't mind too much. Knowing that he was dead would have helped him sleep at night.

John was watching this of course. He was in shock at what he was seeing. Sherlock never lost control like this. Especially in this kind of a situation. John knew that Sherlock had been on edge about this case and that he was growing weary. He knew that he would be pissed as hell about what Tom had done to Molly. He knew that he would possibly try to kill him. But this… this was animalistic. This was something far more than anger and revenge. This was something else.

John finally decided that he had to stop Sherlock before he actually killed Tom. He put his gun away, grabbed Sherlock by the arms, and pulled him back. Sherlock was thrashing, trying to get to Tom. Sherlock was still screaming, but he was finally calming down.

Sherlock shoved at John and yelled, "Get off of me!"

Sherlock looked over at Molly and his face fell. The little color she had earlier had washed away from her face. Sherlock got on his knees and leaned over her. He cupped her face in both of his trembling hands. He leaned his face down, only inches away from hers. His voice was shaking and tears started falling down his face as he said, "Oh no… Oh no, no, no… Molly, please. Please! Oh my God, oh my God. I don't know what to do! John... John you have to help her! John, I can't do it! Please!" Sherlock was panicking and he was pleading for John to help him.

John looked at his friend now, finally understanding. He didn't know if Sherlock even understood, but he did. The look of sheer terror on his face explained it all. Sherlock Holmes' walls had finally cracked. Human emotion had finally started to seep into him. And after everything he has gone through and seen in the past few day, it now consumed him.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, desperation and fear filling his tear stained face.

John snapped out of it and switch on the doctor inside him. He rushed over to Molly, shoving Sherlock out of the way. Sherlock scooted over so he could lean against the wall behind him while still sitting down. His eyes never left Molly. He waited impatiently. Fearing the worst.

Sherlock watched John's every move. It seemed to take ages even though it only took a few seconds. Sherlock's voice still trembled when he spoke, "I-Is she going to be okay, John?"

John's heart couldn't help but hurt when he heard Sherlock speak those words. He sounded so small, so quiet, so scared. He turned to look Sherlock in the eyes when he said, "She's hurt pretty badly. She has a pulse but it's weak. I suspect that she has a few broken ribs and slight internal bleeding. She's lost a lot of blood and it might take a while for her to recover, but I think she's going to be just fine."

John gave Sherlock a reassuring smile. Physical recovery would probably take a while, mentally and emotionally… never. They would have to test her for various diseases, brain injuries, pregnancy, and etc. He left this out though, of course.

Sherlock ran his bloody fingers through his hair without thinking, and got blood all on his forehead and in his hair. His head leaned back against the wall behind him, he closed his eyes, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Relief. True and actual relief filled him to the brim. He still felt guilty, he still felt angry, and he still felt sorrowful; but his Molly was finally safe, and that was all that mattered.

"Thank God," Sherlock said quietly. His face still had tear stains, his eyes still glowed red, but no more tears escaped his eyes after that.

He sat there for a few more seconds. He finally stood up and walked towards Tom's pile of clothes. He rummaged through them, looking for the keys to Molly's handcuffs. He found them and got them off of her. Sherlock threw the keys and handcuffs to John and said, "Cuff him to the pipe."

John got up, dragged Tom over to the pipe, and cuffed him to the pipe. A trail of blood followed them.

While John was doing that, Sherlock took his coat off. He knelt down towards Molly and draped his coat over her and gently picked her up into a cradle. He very carefully wrapped the coat around the rest of her body, trying not to touch her inappropriately- and succeeding. Sherlock's eyes were so sad while he looked at her beaten face, which was only inches away from his own. He closed his eye and pulled her in a little closer, but was still being as gentle as he could with her.

John, of course, saw all of this. It was baffling to see. Once he was done with the handcuffs, they both headed towards the front entrance.

* * *

Molly had not woken up yet. She had been asleep for almost thirteen hours. The nurse had said that Molly will be needing her rest and will wake up when she is ready to wake up. Sherlock had not left her side yet. Even when the room was full of people, he remained right in his chair by her bed. Even when people were leaving, he remained in that chair. John and Mary were the last two to leave. As they were leaving, Mary kept grinning at Sherlock with that knowing smile of hers.

Sherlock vaguely understood her implications and said, "Oh, shut up."

"Oi!" she said jokingly, but then said, "Take care of her, eh?"

Sherlock just gave her a small smile.

"How long you going to stay?" John said.

"Until she asks me to leave." Sherlock said seriously.

John just smiled and walked out the door with his wife.

Sherlock waited a few minutes and scooted his chair a bit closer to Molly. He was just watching her. He savored every beep of her heart monitor, every rise and fall of her chest, and every second he spent with her.

As soon as she arrived to the hospital, they figured out her blood type and pumped more into her. She had lost too much and needed the extra blood. They checked everything possible; she did not have any diseases, she was not pregnant, and she did not have brain damage. She was perfect. She really was going to be fine. It was a miracle.

Sherlock looked at her face again. It was still bruised and cut up but it was healing. Some of the bruises on her body had started to turn yellow. If she did wake up soon, she was going to be very, very sore. The cuts on her body were finally healing as well. Most had scabbed over, but the deeper ones had to be stitched and bandaged. She needed sixty-four stitches total.

Sherlock had been staring at her for about ten minutes. He convinced himself that he was just checking to make sure her bruises and cuts were healing nicely. The ones he could see at least. Once he was done assessing, he still continued to stare. He tenderly placed a hand on her bed. He eyed her hand that laid by her side. The wrists were raw and blistered underneath the bandages, Sherlock knew, but the rest of her hands looked fine. They were very small and thin. Sherlock didn't know women could have beautiful hands but Molly's were, indeed, very beautiful. He remembered seeing her brush her hair out of her face, bring a cup of tea to her lips, and many other things with her hands. He had to admit that they moved remarkably graceful for such a twitchy person. He smiled to himself.

He stretched a few of his fingers out and brushed them over her knuckles ever so lightly.

The door opened and Sherlock pulled his hand back coolly. He was somewhat annoyed at the doctor who was interrupting this… "moment".

She smiled at him and said, "Are you her husband?"

"Um… No."

"Oh, are you her boyfriend?" said the doctor.

"Uh, we're really just friends… Is there a problem? Is there another test you have to run?" said Sherlock, he was getting sort of worried at her presence. He looked down at Molly, she seemed to be doing fine.

"Oh, no, don't worry. She's doing great, I was just coming to check on her," she said, smiling at Sherlock. She could since his worry, "We're really only supposed to let family members stay the night with patience unless they say otherwise…"

Sherlock looked away from Molly to the doctor now. He had to leave? He just got her back and now he had to leave her again?

"But I can see that you really care about this girl. I'd rather her wake up to a familiar face than an empty room in a hospital… especially after what she's gone through," the doctor's face turned sad. She had been informed of what Molly had gone through.

Sherlock did not smile. He just said, "Thank you."

She checked the machines next to Molly, wrote something down on her clipboard, then walked out the door.

Sherlock did not extend his hand towards Molly's again. He simply watched her and listened to the sound of her heart monitor. He felt exhausted. He really needed to sleep and eat. Most people would have passed out by now. Sherlock was quite resilient, but even he had to give into _some _human needs. He tried to resist but he fell asleep in the arm chair next to Molly's bed within a few minutes. Finally, the nightmares left him alone this time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Yay! I'm going to live! And so is Molly! (For now… Mwahaha) I'm so glad I'm done writing sad stuff! It was really getting to me! Now for some fluff! Maybe? Maybe not? Let me know. **

**I tried to write how Sherlock solved the case. I thought of all sorts of things that Sherlock could have found and used, but after doing research, I discovered that most of the stuff I thought of were not exactly physically possible and I didn't want my story to seem dumb so I scrapped it. HA!**

**I really would like to know where y'all think this story should go from here. I've got it mostly planned out but I would love to know y'all's opinions! If I think it would go along with the plot I have planned out, I would definitely consider it! Please review! I love reviews! Thanks for reading! **

**P.S. I'm going to the beach next week and I don't know if I'm going to bring my laptop or not. I'll try and update ASAP but it still might take a little while. Sorry! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

**Hello, my lovely readers!**

**For anyone that cares, the beach was amazing! I got to see my sister, and she taught me how to surf… sort of. (I still wasn't very good when I left HAHA!)**

**I wrote this chapter on the ride to the beach, but the hotel we stayed at did NOT have Wi-Fi. So every night, I continued to edit and add. Forgive me for its length. I thought about splitting it into two but… I didn't see a point in it other than to possibly buy me more time to write another chapter. **

**I've got to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my story, and especially the people who have clicked the follow and/or favorite button! And to everyone who writes me super sweet reviews, I love you. Oh, so much! Y'all are the reason I continue! Haha! I've recently noticed that there is a 1 next to the "Communities" box. I don't really know what that means (forgive my ignorance) but I am pretty excited about it! **

**I hope y'all like this chapter!**

**I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

Chapter 7

Sherlock woke up at around 6:00 AM the next morning. His entire body felt stiff. He lifted his neck and felt a pop and grimaced. He slowly stood up and stretched for a minute, popping various joints in the process. He felt a little bit better but not much. He looked at Molly, who was still asleep. He smiled at the sight of her. Her colour had almost completely returned to her face. She still had her bruises and cuts but he knew they would heal. He felt a rush of happiness and relief run through him at the sight of her being safe and sound.

Despite feeling completely happy, he felt grimy and hungry. He wanted a shower; he hadn't showered in two days. He also wanted something to eat; he hadn't eaten in a very long time. Now that the case was over, he started to pay attention to his body's needs. He wanted to be there when Molly woke up though, so he decided to just wait. After standing for a few moments, he started to feel dizzy and sat down in his chair again.

_Ugh, to be human… _He thought to himself.

John and Mary came in at about 8:30 AM with a bag of breakfast pastries from Rafael's. John threw the bag to Sherlock and said, "Eat something. Doctor's orders."

Sherlock gave him a small smile and reached into the bag and started to eat. He was very grateful, the buttery pastry melted in his mouth.

Mary walked over to Sherlock and set a gentle hand on his shoulder. In a soft and careful voice, Mary said, "Sherlock, John and I will stay with Molly if you want to go back to your flat to freshen up."

"Thank you, but I want to be here when she wakes up," Sherlock stated plainly with his mouth half full of muffin crumbs.

"You've got _blood _in your hair," said John, "You're probably going to frighten her if she wakes up and sees you like that."

Sherlock scoffed in offence, but soon realized he was probably right. He stood up, swallowed the last bit of his second muffin, and said, "Alright, I'll be back as soon as I can. Call me if she wakes up."

John was a little surprised that he hadn't said "text" but nodded his head anyway.

* * *

Sherlock stood in the shower, lost in thought. He wondered how long it would take for her to wake up. She had only stirred a few times. It shouldn't be that much longer, should it? He wanted to hurry up and get back to the hospital, so he quickly scrubbed his body down until his skin turned red.

When he got out, he ruffled his damp curls with his towel, brushed his teeth with far too much toothpaste, put on a very small amount of cologne that he rarely ever wore but liked the scent of, and shaved his face until he was silky smooth. He looked through his shirts and decided on the purple one because he knew Molly liked it along with some black trousers.

Before he started to dress, he began to assess himself in the mirror. He looked thin. Muscular, but thin. He still had his old scars, they had healed as much as they could; he was left with their permanent remains. The skin on his knuckle looked red and cut in a few places from relentlessly punching Tom. Despite the sleep he had gotten the night before, he still had dark circles under his eyes. The black curls on top of his head had grown a little longer than he liked, but they still looked well groomed in a messy sort of way. His cheekbones were razor sharp now, due to his sunken in cheeks. In a way, he liked his face to look this intense and ferocious, but another part of him wish it was a bit softer sometimes, less intimidating, something Molly could appreciate more. He shook that thought out of his head, getting annoyed at himself for thinking of such stupid things. He quickly dressed and headed outside.

* * *

When he got back to the hospital, Molly had not woken up still. Sherlock was relieved but couldn't help feel a little worried.

Mary smiled at him and said, "Well don't you clean up nice!"

John smirked at Sherlock.

Sherlock walked over to his chair, and scooted it back to Molly's side, and sat down.

"She stirred a bit while you were gone," Mary said with a slight smile.

Sherlock looked up at her.

"Her brothers are going to be here later today. They want her to go home with them for a little while after the hospital releases her…" John said carefully.

Sherlock's head snapped in John's direction. "What?!"

"Sherlock, they're her family. Bart's values her as a skilled pathologist and are going to let her take as long as she needs to recover. Especially in this sort of situation. It might be for the best that she gets away for a while before she starts going back to her usual routine. It also might be nice for her to spend some time with her family."

Sherlock's exterior looked angry and annoyed. His interior was freaking the hell out. "No."

"Sweetie, you don't really get a choice. Molly's a grown woman, she will probably _want_ to go with them. Spend a nice holiday to get her strength up, that's all. It wouldn't be forever," said Mary, trying to be annoyingly cheerful. Sherlock knew that she was actually a very charming woman. He just did not want to be reasoned with about this.

Sherlock knew that it was completely ridiculous for him to be hurt over the fact that Molly would choose her family over him. But he couldn't help it. He tried to shake the feeling. It didn't work. He stupidly thought that after she was released from the hospital, she would go back to her job and he would continue using her lab… while she was there with him… in the lab… together…

Now that he thought about that, he realized that that was extremely selfish of him. She was going to be extremely traumatized and needed her family to be there for her.

_But _I'm_ here for her…_ the selfish, stupid part of his mind said.

"Fine," he said finally.

Mary and John shared a look with one another. Sherlock couldn't quite recognize their expressions, but then again, he didn't really care.

* * *

Molly's brothers would probably be here soon. It was 1:45 PM. Mary and John had gone to the cafeteria to get lunch, leaving Sherlock alone with Molly for the last time for a while, probably. He savored the moment.

Sherlock acutely noticed the very little distance between their hands.

_This is stupid…_ he thought as he slowly moved his hand towards Molly's. He tentatively wrapped his long fingers around her petite hand. He let out the breath he had been holding and relaxed a bit. He slowly stroked her knuckles with his thumb, wishing she was holding his hand back…

He looked at her face. She looked very peaceful. Mary had tried to fix her hair enough to where it didn't look too messy. With her head being limp, it was hard to accomplish, but she did. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and it looked rather nice. Her eye was still bruised but the swelling had gone down almost completely. Mary had also slicked a light pink lip gloss over Molly's chapped lips. Mary had stated, "If I were unconscious, I would want someone to do this for me," she smiled at John and said, "Especially if a handsome man was watching me at my bedside." John had chuckled and kissed her tenderly on her mouth.

It took Sherlock longer than he'd like to admit to realize that _he _was the handsome man watching her at her bedside. He couldn't help but blush; which he hated.

He looked around her small room and saw all of the various gifts that had been sent or dropped off for her. Flowers, Balloons, and etc. Daisies were her favorite and Mrs. Hudson was the only one to buy her them. They were sat on the window seal in a small pink vase. It was by far the most simple out of all the other bouquets, but Sherlock knew that Molly would appreciate it the most.

Mrs. Hudson had cried when she first saw Molly. She had been in an abusive relationship once, and it pained her to see that sweet little Molly had been beaten from the same man that had asked her hand in marriage. She had held Molly's hand for the longest time before John told her that they would take her home.

Sherlock wondered if he should have bought her something. John and Mary had bought her a small pink orchid. Sherlock remembered seeing an orchid in her flat when he and John had gone in there to see if she was alright. It had already started to wilt due to the lack of water.

"Mmhh…" Molly made a sound and turned her head slightly.

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts in a flash. He was staring at Molly with wide, hopeful eyes now.

Her hand squeezed Sherlock's hand weakly.

Sherlock's heartbeat quickened.

Molly let out a sigh and made a "Sshuhh" sound at the end.

Sherlock, still holding Molly's hand, stood up and hovered over her. His face was close to hers now, watching her.

She crinkled her nose. If Sherlock was willing to admit it, the only word to describe it was "adorable."

Molly's eyes started to flutter open slowly. Sherlock felt as if his heart was going to jump out of his chest; he couldn't hold back his slight smile and hopeful eyes.

When her eyes adjusted a little bit more, she looked over at Sherlock. Her eyes grew wide and she let out a gasp. Not in shock exactly, but in fear. She jumped away from him as much as her sore body would allow. The sudden movement sent a painful shock run through her and she yelped in pain.

In that moment, Sherlock's smile fell. His mouth fell open slightly. His eyes were filled with shock, hurt, and worry. His heart sank and his throat tightened.

_She thinks I'm Tom…_

His eyes were so full of pain and anger. Not at Molly, but at Tom. Would she always be reminded of Tom when she saw Sherlock? Would it be too painful for her to be around him in the future? He prayed to God- whom he didn't fully believe in- that it wouldn't always be like this.

The fear in her eyes was beyond measurable. He pitied her for what she had gone through.

He slowly lifted his hand and softly brushed her cheek, entangling the tips of his fingers into the roots of her soft hair. With sad eyes and a quiet voice, Sherlock said, "It's me, Molly…"

Within a fraction of a second, recognition and relief filled Molly's face. She sobbed and cried out, "O-ho Sherlock!" She lifted her weak arms, leaned towards him, and tried to embrace him.

Sherlock's heart felt as if it had disintegrated.

She was too weak to fully embrace him, so he did what she couldn't. He wrapped his arms around her as gently and as firmly as he dared. She continued to cry onto his chest; the torture she had gone through was still fresh on her mind. He held her up by her back with one arm and stroked her hair with his opposite hand. Sherlock's own eyes threatened to spill a few tears in that moment.

He whispered, "It's okay, Molly. I've got you, don't worry, I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

She continued to sob though. He understood; he just wanted to comfort her. He hated this. He hated what Tom had done to his Molly.

In the midst of her sobs she said, "Y-you f-found me, you c-came for me."

What was left of his heart had completely melted away. His throat tightened and a tear he had been holding back, had escaped finally. _She doubted I would find her…_

He held her closer to him and said, "Of course I did, Darling, of course I did…" He didn't really know why he called her Darling, but he didn't really care at that moment. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head, savoring this moment they had together. When he finally pulled his lips away, he let out a shaky breath.

She whispered out a shaky "thank you" between sobs and sniffs.

After a while her sobs turned into occasional sniffs, and Sherlock set her back down on her bed that was reclined into a 75 degree angle. He scooted his chair closer to Molly's bed. He sat down on the edge of his chair and set a hand on the side of Molly's bed (not exactly offering it to her), wondering if she would take it.

She did not.

"How long was I gone… Before… Before you… Before anyone noticed?" Molly said quietly, still sniveling.

Sherlock looked at her quietly for a moment. "Well… two days after I visited you in the lab, I went back and you were not there. Dr. Brighton stated that you were sick so I left because I didn't want to work with anyone other than you," Sherlock stopped to study her reaction to that. She smiled slightly. "Umm… the next day you were not in there again. John suggested that I could go and check on you, so I went to your flat. You did not open the door, so I picked the lock. I went inside to discover that you had been abducted. So, in conclusion, technically, a day and a half since you were abducted the night after I was with you in the lab."

Molly sat there quiet for a moment, thinking. "How did you know it was that night?"

Sherlock looked her in the eyes and said softly,"Green tea… you only drink green tea at night, and that was what was in the cups on your coffee table."

Molly just nodded.

Sherlock continued to stare at her. Her eyes and cheeks were red from crying.

Mary and John came in and saw that Molly was awake. They both smiled at her!

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty!" said Mary, who walked over and gave her a hug.

Molly grinned up at them; she was touched that they were there for her.

"Your brothers should be here pretty soon, as well," said John cheerfully.

Sherlock's mood dropped a little. Only John noticed the change in his expression.

Molly gasped, "Really?!" she grinned even bigger.

Sherlock's heart sunk.

"Oh, I haven't seen the boys in so long!"

"Well, of course they are coming. Their sister has just been the victim of a horrible crime, Molly," said Sherlock matter of factly.

John quickly and sternly said, "Sherlock."

Sherlock looked from Molly's shocked face to John's disapproving face. Realization flooded him and he awkwardly said, "Uh, Sorry."

"S'okay. It's true," said Molly sadly.

Marry put a tender hand on Molly's shoulder and said, "But you're ok now, thanks to John and Sherlock!" Her voice turned a little more serious and cold, "You don't _ever _have to worry about him coming anywhere near you again."

Molly gave a small smile to Mary, thankful.

"No you do not," Sherlock said in a cold, chilling voice.

Molly turned to look at him; his eyes were filled with an anger she could not even fathom. It scared her in a way.

His eyes softened after seeing her look at him.

Molly remembered something. Something very important. Something she had to tell Sherlock. "Sherlock!" she yelled as she sat up straight in her bed. A pain shot through her again and she gasped in pain.

He was right next to her in a flash. "Molly? Are you ok? What is it?"

Mary and John had made their way to her as quickly as they could. John hit the red button on her bed which called for a nurse.

Molly was breathing hard from the shock of pain that went through her, "M-MMoriarty is… back. H-he-ee's alive."

Sherlock froze.

Two nurses ran in and helped Molly. They had had her on a low dose of Morphine so she would be able to wake up, but now they adjusted it to where she was getting a sufficient amount to dull the pain.

When John heard her say this, his head snapped up to see what Sherlock would do. He was frozen. John turned his head to Mary. She looked at John with worry filling her eyes. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

"That's impossible," John finally said, "you said you saw him shoot himself in the head. Stuck the damn gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger!"

In a calm voice, Molly said, "And you saw Sherlock jump off of a five story building…"

John didn't say anything after that.

Sherlock still hadn't said anything. Hadn't really moved either.

Molly let out a giggle. The morphine was starting to work. Her head swayed slightly as she said, "When can I go home?"

The nurse smiled and said, "As soon as your doctor says you are well enough, sweetie."

Molly grinned and said, "That's great! I feel fantastic! I want to go home now!" She started to throw her covers off of her. Her hospital gown had ridden up slightly and she was showing a lot of her thighs. She gasped at the sight of them. She had two large bandages on her legs, the rest of them were covered in large scabs and yellow/green/blue bruises. "Or… maybe not…" she said slowly.

Sherlock had a bit of guilt rush through him as he looked at Molly's legs. He slowly reached for her blanket and pulled it back towards Molly's hips so it covered her again.

Molly started to feel self-conscious after seeing how ugly her legs looked. There was no telling what the rest of her looked like. She lifted her hand up to brush a bit of hair out of her face.

A knock on the door snapped her out of it. It was Mark, her older brother. She grinned at him and let out a happy yell. Mathew, her slightly younger brother followed. She lifted her arms out to welcome them into a hug. She did not notice the sadness in their eyes at seeing her like that.

"When did she wake up?" said Mark cheerfully. He looked at the nurse who looked between John, Mary, and Sherlock.

Sherlock spoke in a very blunt and formal voice, "1:54 PM"

Mark looked at Sherlock with a confused look on his face.

Sherlock stood up, stuck his hand out, and said "Sherlock Holmes."

Mark shook his hand, smiled and said, "Mark Cooper. Nice to finally meet you."

Mathew shook his hand next.

The two men that stood in front of Sherlock were about the same height, which was almost as tall as Sherlock but not quite. They both had the same build which was lean and athletic. More bulky than Sherlock himself.

Mark had the same color hair as Molly but had emerald green eyes instead of brown. His nose was the same as Molly's but was larger and didn't turn up as much at the end. He was married. He had a good paying job and two children. He had high arches. He use to smoke but has quit and hasn't had one in a long time. He played football on occasion.

Mathew, on the other hand, had dark blond hair that was long enough to be considered shaggy. His eyes were the same shape as Molly's but were also green like Mark's. He also had high arches. He was not married but he had a girlfriend. He owned a dog. A rather large dog. His job paid well enough, but not nearly as much as Mark's. He also had an earring. He smoked marijuana, but not religiously. His complexion was darker than his other siblings.

Molly was smiling from ear to ear. She was so excited to see her brothers. Plus, the morphine made her a bit ditzy.

"How ya feelin' Molls?" said Mathew while sitting himself onto the foot of her bed.

"Can't complain," said Molly who giggled.

Everyone smiled at her. Except for Sherlock.

* * *

Over the next five days, Lestrade had come in to check on her (and also asked questions), her brothers hardly ever left her side, Sherlock stayed in there sometimes but stayed in the waiting room most of the time. He did not want to intrude. He went home once every other day to shower but that was all. Her brothers even left to go shower at the hotel they were "staying at" a few times. Mrs. Hudson had visited a few times. Even though other people were always there, Sherlock got to see Molly every day. They rarely spoke but he no longer refused to look at her like he had before she was kidnapped. He practically stared at her the entire time, in fact. When she would catch him watching, she would avert her eyes and blush. This always caused Sherlock to smile.

When Molly was scheduled to leave the next day, the issue of where she was going was brought up.

When her brother's asked her to stay with one of them for a few weeks she was caught off guard.

"What about my job?" she said in a small voice.

"Well, after everything you've gone through, they're going to let you take as much time off as you need."

"Oh…" Molly said. She tried to sound cheerful. Sherlock saw through this. He didn't know why she was acting this way, but he could tell that she wasn't exactly happy.

Mark said excitedly, "Well? What do you say? I know Donna would love for you to come stay with us."

"Uhh…" Molly said. She looked around for a second. Her eyes finally fell on Sherlock. He was calculating something. She could tell. "Well-"

"She can stay with me." Sherlock said, interrupting Molly

Everyone looked at him with curious faces.

_Did he really just say that?_

_What?_

_This guy is so weird._

_What. The. Hell._

_Hahaha! Yes!_

Though everyone's thoughts were written across everyone's faces plainly, Sherlock calmly stared at Molly, waiting for her to answer him.

"Umm… uhh… What?" she said.

"If you wish to stay in London and go to Bart's with me when I go for my experiments, you are more than welcome to stay at my flat, Molly," said Sherlock.

Molly looked at her brothers. They looked very uncomfortable and very put off. She looked back at Sherlock, "Are you sure, Sherlock?"

He nodded. "I have a guest room, it wouldn't be an inconvenience."

The brothers seemed to lighten up a little bit after Sherlock mentioned a guest room.

She looked back at her brothers again. "I really would rather stay in London…"

They nodded a bit awkwardly. Mathew eventually grinned and slapped Sherlock on the back, "Take care of her, eh? Or we'll have to hurt you."

"Are you openly threatening me in front of a detective inspector?" Sherlock said to him.

"Uhh…" Mathew said out loud. _Yeah, this guy is seriously weird._

"He's kidding," said John. Molly didn't know if he was talking to Mathew or to Sherlock.

Sherlock and Mathew gave an awkward smile to one another.

Lestrade chirped up and said, "Molly, are you sure you want to stay with Sherlock? If Moriarty actually is back, it might not be a good idea to stay at 221B."

"We don't know Tom was telling the truth, he was a lunatic," said John. He desperately didn't want Moriarty to still be alive. He had caused him to lose his best friend. And if Sherlock had not been so ingenious, it may have been permanently.

"Honestly, if Moriarty is back, being with Sherlock is where I'd feel the most safe," said Molly, who blushed after realizing that she had said that out loud.

Sherlock's heart fluttered in his chest at hearing her say that. He let a small smile appear on his face.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock arrived at the hospital. He had spent most of the night trying to tidy up his flat. He had mostly just shoved everything into the cabinets, really. His guest room did not have a bed, exactly, so she would be sleeping in Sherlock's room and he would sleep on the couch.

He had gone out and bought green tea, the same bathroom supplies she had had in her own bathroom, and food that he thought she might like. He realized that she was going to need clothes. He "broke in" to her flat once again. He went into her room. He found her suitcase, once again, and started stuffing it with random clothes. He tried to not pay attention when he found her bras and pants drawers and began stuffing them into the suitcase.

When he felt like he had an adequate amount of clothes packed for her, he set out back to his flat. He set her suitcase on his bed and left it there. Hamlet hopped up onto the bed, sniffed at the bag, and nuzzled his head against it. Sherlock scratched Hamlet's back and said, "You're going to get to see her today, but you mustn't jump on her or paw at her. Do you hear me?"

The cat blinked.

"She isn't feeling well, so you must be on your best behavior," Sherlock said to him. He felt a little ridiculous for talking to a cat, but didn't really care since no one else saw.

He took another shower, scrubbing his body down twice this time, just to be sure. As he washed his hair, he had wished that he had gotten a haircut. He brushed his teeth, shaved, and put on another dab of cologne on his collarbone. He wanted to wear his purple shirt again, but he hadn't washed it yet, so he decided on the grey one that he liked.

He arrived at the hospital at around 8:00 A.M.

She had been taking walks around the hospital the past few days to build up her strength. She was still weak but she would pull through.

She smiled when she saw Sherlock approach. Sherlock smiled back.

"Sherlock, are you sure you're ok with this?" asked Molly.

He smiled, "Of course."

Her brothers were saying their last goodbyes, finally, and left. Molly was sad to see them go.

"Maybe you will see them soon," Sherlock said, seeing the sadness on her face.

She gave him a slight smile.

* * *

When the taxi stopped, Sherlock handed the cabby the money. He got out and got to Molly's side as quickly as he could, so he could open the door for her.

Molly had told Sherlock to bring her loose and comfortable clothes so she could fit the thick bandages underneath them. The trousers he brought were large, purple, and cotton; the top was a large, long sleeve shirt that was sort of thin. It was bright pink and had some sort of quirky pattern. Once he handed them to her, along with some trainers and socks, he noticed her searching the pile for something else.

He truly was an idiot. "Oh… Umm…"

Molly saw that he was embarrassed. She smiled up at him and said, "S'okay. Don't worry about it. It would have hurt against the bruises anyway."

Sherlock's face went red. Ugh… He walked out to let her change without another word.

Molly was almost in shock at seeing Sherlock blush. That had to have been a first.

She had refused to use a wheelchair. She wanted to prove that she was getting better, and that she would be well again soon. She clung to Sherlock's arm and had to stop several times. She felt very light headed. Even the ride to Baker Street wasn't enough time for her to fully recover. Her muscles were starting to ache. When he opened the door for her, she slowly turned and stood up out of the taxi.

Sherlock patiently waited for her. After he opened the door to 221B, he offered her his left hand while his right slipped around her slim waist to help her up the two steps. She struggled more than he thought she would.

Her cheeks were red from the contact. She looked the staircase up and down. She went up one step at a time, with Sherlock there, right by her side.

When they got to the end of the first half, Molly's knees were wobbling. She had stopped to take a break. She was leaning against Sherlock absentmindedly with all of her weight. She was surprised at how weak her muscles had gotten over the past three weeks.

Sherlock started to get worried. He knew she was going to be weak for a while but he didn't know if she could make it up another set of stairs. "Would it be alright if I carry you, Molly?" Sherlock asked in a quiet voice.

Molly looked up at his face, which was mere inches away from hers. She nodded her head and Sherlock moved his left arm down behind her knees, and slowly picked her up bridal style. He was trying to be as gentle as he could. He slowly moved up the stairs, trying to be careful.

Her arms had snaked around his neck to try and steady herself. He was ashamed at how acutely aware he was of her breast pressed up to his chest with no bra being in the way of their skins coming in contact, but in all honestly, she was aware of it too. Just because she had been raped did not mean she no longer had a sex drive, and it certainly didn't take away her feelings for Sherlock.

She still got butterflies when he looked at her, when he touched her, or spoke to her. No one had really told her about what had happened while she was away except that Sherlock was very determined to find her. He acted like a completely different person. He was still a prick at some times, but he didn't ignore her anymore. He didn't avoid eye contact anymore. When she had woken up, and began to cry, he had held her. He had tried to comfort her. When he had pulled away, Molly could have sworn that his eyes looked a little red, but she would never bring it up to him. If anything, her feelings for him had grown even stronger.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had a battle field raging in his mind and body. She was a rape victim. He should not have thoughts like that about her right now. For God's sake, he was carrying her up these steps _because_ of what her rapist had done to her. He shouldn't have these feelings like this at all… He was above human weakness. He didn't have to submit to it. While thinking this, his eyes glanced down at her chest for only a moment. Her shirt was a little too thin and it was pulled tight against her chest when Sherlock picked her up. He could barely make out her nipples poking out against the shirt. _Oh God…_ he thought as he took in a sharp breath. After a moment his body reacted. _Oh God… _he thought to himself in disgust.

He made it to his flat and sat Molly down on the couch.

"Would you like some coffee?" Sherlock said as he turn towards the kitchen as he tried to hide the front of his trousers. _Well this is embarrassing…_

Luckily, Molly did not notice and said, "Yes, please."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Not sure how long these two are going to be able to hold off. And sorry it kind of just ended. **

**So… I hate pointing this out, but this is obviously going to turn into a Sherlolly fan fiction eventually. I'm wondering if I want to get down and dirty when I write this or if I want to state that it finally happens but not go into much detail. What do y'all think? And by "it" I mean sex.**

**Also, sorry again that it took so long to update. No Wi-Fi!**

**Please, please, please review! Or send me a message if you don't want people to see it! If you have any comments, questions, or ideas, please let me know! **

**You guys are amazing, I love you, and goodnight! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

**I know I only updated a few days ago, but I really wanted to update again before I went back to work. This chapter is sort of just a filler but I actually really like it. The end of it at least. **

**You asked for fluff.**

**I give you fluff. **

**See? Aren't I a wonderful fan fiction writer? Don't you wish all of us were this kind? This is also the result from REVIEWING!** **Thank you for everyone who reviewed, favorite, and followed! It means a lot to me! You guys are my favorite **

**Hope you like this one!**

**I don't own Sherlock, or really anything for that matter…**

* * *

Chapter 8

Molly sat quietly on the couch. Her knees were still a little shaky from the half walk up the stairs. She couldn't believe Sherlock had just carried her up those steps. Her heart was pounding in her chest from being so close to him- also from the physical strain.

She looked over to the kitchen where Sherlock was. He was frantically searching through the cabinets. Every once in a while, when he would open a cabinet, a few things would fall out onto the counter.

He was regretting only cleaning the flat half assed. He at least got the blue paint off of his wall.

He finally found it. He started to make a cup of coffee. "How do you like it?"

"Bit of milk and sugar, please."

Sherlock opened the refrigerator. There was a jar full of eyeballs, a bag with a human liver in it, and another bag with an entire hand in it. These were all of the items he had been experimenting on. The only food that was in the refrigerator was a jar half full of olives, leftover Chinese food from God knows how long ago, and a bag of old grapes.

"Fresh out of milk, sorry." Sherlock said after slamming the door closed, the smell was beginning to seep towards him.

"Ah, just sugar then," Molly said.

Sherlock found the sugar and poured some into her mug.

He brought it to her and stood there to see what she thought. He was pretty proud of himself for making coffee all by himself. He couldn't help his small awaiting smile.

She took a sip and coughed at the bitterness. It was extremely strong and the sugar taste was hardly existent. It was disgusting.

Sherlock continued to stare at her. His smile had fallen.

_Cough _"It's good," _cough, cough, _"It's just a-" _cough, _"bit hot," she said, trying to spare his feelings.

"Oh, I'm sorry, perhaps I should have waited."

"No, it's fine, I'll just wait until it cools off," Molly said as she set the mug onto the coffee table. _Oh my God, I'm going to starve…_ She thought to herself.

There was an awkwardly long pause after that. Sherlock continued to stare at her while she tried not to notice. Sherlock abruptly turned and walked down the hallway.

_Maybe I should have stayed with Mark. Why the hell does he keep staring at me? God, he looks so sexy today. _

After a few minutes, a large grey cat with yellow eyes came walking out towards Molly. She gasped and let out a happy squeal. "Tybalt!" He jumped up onto the couch and snuggled up next to her. Molly was so happy to see him again.

"Tybalt?" said Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

Molly looked up to Sherlock, "Yeah, when I first got him, he was sort of mean. Any little thing would set him off. So, I named him Tybalt."

Sherlock just smirked and said, "Fitting."

"Have you been keeping him for me this whole time?"

Sherlock nodded his head.

Molly smiled up at him. "Thank you so much, how was he? I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

"No, he was fine. It was nice to have some company," Sherlock said.

Molly smiled at him, but in the back of her mind she wondered how lonely Sherlock felt deep down, now that John has moved out. Her heart sort of ached for him for a moment. She remembered seeing his face at John and Mary's wedding when they weren't looking. He looked happy for them, but there was still an underlying sadness that filled his eyes. Not many people could see it, but Molly could. She always could see it. She was the only one who noticed him leave early. She desperately wanted to go after him.

She was still sitting at the table with Tom. He had grabbed her hand, throwing her back into reality, reminding her that she could not go after him.

Tom had refused to dance with her that night. He stated that he detested dancing. She wondered if Sherlock would have danced, if she had not had Tom with her that night. Probably not. He didn't seem the type to dance. Not that Molly was very good at dancing anyway.

The self-conscious side of her mind said that even if he wanted to dance, he would not have chosen Molly to dance with. The woman in Mary's bridal party had practically thrown herself at him the entire time. Molly couldn't help but feel jealous of her. She was very beautiful. She was curvy and she had huge tits. Molly looked down at her own lanky body and sighed. She had enough curves for people to know she was female but nothing compared to the woman at the wedding. Molly's skin wasn't even smooth anymore. She knew a few of her scars would never go away. She would always have a reminder of what Tom did to her. The other woman's skin was flawless… Another part of her mind wondered if Sherlock had left early to meet up with her. She nearly felt sick until she remembered seeing her leave with another man at the end of the night.

After a while, Sherlock got bored. He started to pace. He didn't really know what to do so he got his violin out and started to play it. Molly sat quietly for a while and listened. She loved the violin. It was always so soothing to her. She laid her head back and watched Sherlock's fingers gracefully move across the strings of his violin and his arm rock back and forth to the rhythm of the song he played.

After about half an hour, Molly slowly started to stand up.

Sherlock abruptly stopped playing and rushed to her side, "What is it? What do you need?"

"A bath?"

"Oh," he said. He hesitated but stuck his arm out for her to grab on to. He led her to the bathroom. "Are you going to need help?"

Molly's face turned a deep red. "Uh… No, no I'm fine."

Sherlock nodded and quickly walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He decided to stay in the hallway, just in case something happened or she needed anything. He listened to the water flow into the tub and listened to her step in. He could hear her hum a song he had never heard before, and he could hear an occasional splash of water. Her singing voice was similar to her usual voice but it wasn't as twitchy or unsure. It was quite pleasant, Sherlock thought.

After a while, Sherlock heard the water begin to drain, and a splash of water that indicated she had stood up. He began to feel a little panicked. He didn't know if he should continue to stand there or if he should walk away. He didn't know if it would bother Molly if she knew he had been standing there while she bathed. He looked around awkwardly before he heard Molly yell, "Sherlock, there aren't any towels!"

His head fell back and he huffed in annoyance at himself. How many ways was he going to screw this up? "Um, I'll bring you one."

He walked to the hall closet and grabbed an extra towel. He knocked on the bathroom door and it opened up enough for a small hand to slip through and grab the towel. She came out with the towel wrapped around her and she was carrying the rolls of fabric for her wounds. "Do you have any fresh ones?"

"Yes. Do you need help putting them on?"

Molly looked down and said, "I can get the ones for my legs but I may need help with the one on my back and the ones on my wrists… I'm sorry…" She knew she couldn't help it, but she hated being a burden.

"Molly, I knew you were going to need help with some things. If I were not willing to help you with those things, I would not have asked you to stay with me," Sherlock reassured her.

She gave him a grateful smile.

Molly went into Sherlock's room to tend to her wounds on her legs. They were healing nicely. She rubbed some sort of cream onto them that the hospital gave her, placed a thick, white, square non-stick gauze over it, and wrapped it up nice and tight with her reusable wraps. She put her pants on and another loose pair of cotton trousers.

She tried to at least put a bra on before Sherlock helped her put on her other bandages, but the back of it rubbed against the many unstitched scars on her back. She took it off. She grabbed the towel and held it to her front where it at least covered her breasts. She felt humiliated. Sherlock didn't even care about stuff like that, yet she still was still self-conscious.

Sherlock waited outside his bedroom door. He felt nervous for some reason. He paced back and forth, he fiddled with his fingers, and ruffled his curls several times. She opened the door with a towel hanging over her chest. Sherlock looked at her and swallowed.

* * *

"Do you know what to do?" asked Molly quietly, knowing it was a stupid question as soon as it left her lips. She was facing the opposite direction with her entire back exposed to him. She had pulled her hair over to one side so that it was all draped down one side of her chest. She was facing a mirror and saw that he was looking at her ugly scars and bruises. His eyes slowly traveled across her skin, studying every inch.

Looking at her back, Sherlock knew every detail about her wounds. He knew what had been the weapon, he knew when they had occurred, he knew the amount of pressure that was applied to each wound, and he knew which ones hurt the most. His eyes fell to the stitched scar on her that was about six inches long on the right side of her back. It started at the bottom of her rib cage and went straight down. Anger at Tom started welling up within him. He could see some of her rib cage, a few of her vertebra, and her shoulder blades; they caused her back to look tremendously elegant. She was skinny but not too skinny. She still had sloping curves and soft flesh, but she still remained so small and dainty. He knew she had lost weight since before the kidnapping, and he knew she would gain it back fairly quickly. He could tell that her skin use to be perfectly smooth and blemish free, all but for her freckles on her shoulders.

After hearing her question, he nodded slightly and grabbed the container that the hospital had given them. He dabbed a bit of the substance onto his fingers on his right hand. With his left hand, he grabbed her waist gently just so it had something to do. He slowly and carefully wiped the cream along Molly's scar.

Molly let out a hiss when Sherlock first touched the scar. It was cold and it burned. Sherlock pulled his hand back and looked at Molly's face through the mirror. Molly gritted her teeth and said, "It's okay."

He tentatively began to rub her scar again.

Without thinking, Sherlock stroked her side with his thumb on his left hand as it still held her petite waist. This caused Molly to let out a sigh as it sent chills down her spine. _This_, Sherlock _did_ notice.

He got an unnecessary second dab of the cream and started to rub it on her scar again. His left hand went back to her waist but it landed a bit higher this time. Molly noticed this. Her eyes never left Sherlock in the mirror.

Sherlock, absentmindedly, had scooted closer to Molly. She could feel his breath against her neck and shoulders. This caused her skin to tingle all over. More so in certain areas of her body.

Sherlock saw the small bumps rise up on her skin. He couldn't help his mind from wondering about other parts of her body that may have reacted the same way. He wondered what had caused it. _Is it too cold in here for her?_

Sherlock noticed a change in his own body soon after seeing her reaction.

He cleared his throat and quickly grabbed the gauze and roll of fabric. He placed the gauze against her scar and began wrapping the fabric around her waist. Every time he wrapped it around her, his arms had to encircle Molly. He also had to swat at the towel that hung in front of her because it was in the way. He was growing more and more impatient by the infuriating towel. "Molly, do you mind dropping the towel? It's in the way and it's extremely annoying," Sherlock said in frustration.

Molly looked at him through the mirror. Her eyes grew a little wider and a blush came across her face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Please, you of all people know I don't have such intentions. And besides, you don't have much to cover up, anyway." Every word dripped with disdain.

Molly's jaw dropped. Anger built up within her. "Get out. I can do it myself."

Sherlock stood there for a moment, staring back at her through the mirror. _Oh God, what have I done?_

"Get out! Now!"

Sherlock held the gauze out to her for her to take. She snatched it out of his hand, and he walked out of the room.

* * *

She slowly made her way through the hallway. She had to lean against the wall, but she eventually made it. Sherlock was laying down on the couch along with Tybalt lying on his stomach. Molly sat down in John's chair. It was the closest one to her.

When Sherlock heard Molly sit down, he sat up and looked at her. He felt bad for not helping her walk from his room. He looked down and noticed that the bandages on her wrists were sloppy and a bit loose. Without a word he walked over to her and got down on his knees. He grabbed one of her hands and gently started to unravel the fabric from around her wrist and wrapped it up a bit neater. He quickly finished one and began on the other. When he finished, he slowly took both of her hands in his own.

She felt her heart do a flutter in her chest.

Sherlock stared at their hands that were clasped together, never looking up to her face. His brows furrowed and he said, "I continue to hurt you, Molly Hooper. When I found out you had been kidnapped, I promised myself I would never do anything to hurt you again, just so long as I could see you again. I am sorry for what I said, and I am sorry for everything I have said in the past that has caused you pain," he looked up at her, "Please forgive me."

Molly's mouth had fallen open. _What has gotten into this man? _She could feel her heart racing. She looked into those sad, beautiful, blue-green eyes. She squeezed his hands, smiled at him, and said, "Of course I forgive you."

He smiled back up at her and said, "Thank you." Then raised her right hand up, and ever so slightly brushed his lips across the back of her hand.

* * *

Sherlock and Molly watched telly while they ate pizza on the couch together for dinner. After they changed into their pajamas and robes, they drank green tea and played checkers. Sherlock won every time. Molly got frustrated and stated that she was going to bed. She had had a lovely time with Sherlock. They had conversed, laughed, and enjoyed in each other's company the entire evening. Even Sherlock had let his walls down enough to enjoy the evening.

He offered his arm to Molly. She took it, and they started walking towards the bedroom.

Sherlock said in a joking manner, "You are _truly _rubbish at checkers."

Molly playfully punched his arm, "Shut up."

Sherlock let out a low, throaty laugh at this. "Perhaps Candy Land is more your speed."

Molly laughed and said, "I said, shut up!"

"I never thought you as a sore loser, Molly, but you proved me wrong, tonight."

"Me?! You are a sore winner!" laughed Molly.

Sherlock smirked, "Perhaps."

Were they actually flirting? Molly? And Sherlock? Flirting? With each other? And Sherlock didn't even have an incentive. And Molly did not stutter one bit. Maybe they did not notice that that was what they were doing.

When they made it to the bedroom, Molly pulled away from Sherlock to crawl in under the covers. Sherlock asked, "Do you need anything?"

Molly shook her head no.

He gave her one last smile, said, "Goodnight, then," and turned the lights out.

* * *

Sherlock laid on the couch, wide awake. His left arm laid behind his head while his right laid on his chest. His right leg was bent up and his left was sprawled out. He had a smirk on his face as he thought about his day. After an hour he finally fell asleep.

He looked to the left as he laid on the couch. He saw Molly making her way towards him.

He sat up, "Molly? Are you alright? Do you need anything?" Worry automatically flooded him.

She stood a few feet away from him, she nodded her head.

Sherlock sat there awkwardly for a moment, propped up on one elbow, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he asked, "What is it?"

She combed her fingers through her hair and stepped towards him. She lifted her leg up and moved it to the opposite side of him. Sherlock was in shock. She lowered herself down until she straddled him. Sherlock stared at her with large, shocked eyes.

She moved her face closer to his and whispered, "You."

She crushed her lips against his and curved her torso in towards him. Her fingers ran through his curls feverishly. Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a blissful sigh. His free hand tentatively found the curve of her leg behind her knee. His fingers barely brushing her soft, smooth legs.

Her tongue brushed across his bottom lip, and his mouth automatically opened for her. Her tongue entered between his lips and barely brushed the tip of his tongue. Sherlock let a moan escape that let her know he liked that. His hand grasped at her thigh and made its way up to her waist.

Molly smiled at this and began pulling at his robe, trying to get it off of him. Sherlock retaliated by hastily removing it by slinging it off of his shoulders; his breathing was heavy now. When it finally flew across the room, Sherlock grabbed Molly's face and engulfed her mouth with his. He fell back to the couch and pulled Molly down with him. When he did this, Molly had shifted her weight a bit against Sherlock's hips. This caused a shock of sensation to course through Sherlock's entire body. Without even thinking about it, he shifted his hips under her weight- causing another wave of sensation. He had a sharp intake of breath at feeling this, followed by another lustful moan.

Sherlock's eyes opened to complete darkness. He looked around hoping he hadn't actually been moaning in his sleep. At the time, the dream seemed very realistic, but now that he thought about it, it wasn't. She was able to move better than she could in reality; her skin was perfectly smooth, when in reality, it was not, due to the scares. The "sensation" he imagined wasn't as intense as it would have been in real life.

He let out a sigh at that last thought as his head hit the pillow behind him. He could feel his erection pushing against the front of his trousers. He couldn't take a cold shower, so he just waited… and waited… and waited… He couldn't get the dream out of his head. It was infuriating.

Until all of a sudden, a scream tore through any fantasy left in Sherlock's sleep hazed mind. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he sprinted towards Molly. Screams continued to come from her bedroom. He burst through the door to find that the room was dark, and Molly was still in bed. She was screaming in her sleep. She was in the fetal position and her eyes were squeezed shut. Sherlock turned the lights on and put a hand on Molly's shoulder.

Her eyes opened wide and they searched the room until they found Sherlock. She jumped away from him and let out another blood curdling scream.

Sherlock's heart broke all over again…

"Get away from me! Please!" She begged and cried. Sheer terror filled her eyes.

"Molly, look at me! I'm not him! It's me!" he yelled at her while she tried to thrash at him. His brows furrowed as his heart continued to break. Tears began to well in his eyes as he looked at the pitiful girl crying in his bed. The girl who had stolen his heart.

She finally collapsed into more tears as she realized she was safe and that it was just a nightmare. She pulled her knees up tight against her chest and buried her face in her hands.

When she had jumped away from Sherlock, she had left about three feet between them. Sherlock sat on the bed and pulled Molly close to him. He wrapped his arms around her as she continued to cry.

"Oh, Sherlock, It was _awful_. It was _so_ awful."

Sherlock continued to hold her while he brushed his fingers through her hair. He continued to whisper to her sweet words of comfort. "Shh… It's alright. I'm here for you. I'll keep you safe. He's not coming back. You don't have to worry, I'll protect you."

"He hurt me, Sherlock. He _raped_ me! How can someone _do _that?!" Molly cried. Her face was buried in his chest, her tears stained his shirt.

Sherlock brushed the hair that was in her face back behind her ear. "I know, I'm so, so sorry. I should have been there sooner. Molly, please- please don't cry." Sherlock's voice was trembling. He held onto her tight as she sat between his legs. He could not stand to see her like this. He wanted to do whatever it took to get her to stop.

Molly's arms wrapped around Sherlock. She needed to hold something; she needed to be held.

Her dream had been so vivid. It was a memory of one of the times Tom had raped her.

One of Sherlock's hands was rubbing her back up and down.

Neither of them knew when. Neither of them knew how. But they had fallen asleep with each other wrapped in one another's arms. Sherlock had ended up on his back and Molly's body was facing his and her head laid on his chest/shoulder with her left hand laying on the right side of his chest. Sherlock's left arm wrapped around Molly and his hand landed on the highest point of her waist. His right arm was bent so that his hand held hers over his chest.

No more dreams invaded their sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Heating things up a bit aren't I?!**

**I hope everyone liked it! I wrote this one pretty quickly, I may reread it and rewrite it one day. It seems good right now, but I'm half asleep. Haha!**

**Please let me know what you think! I need opinions! Am I going to fast with their relationship development? Am I going to slow? Do I need to add in the action now or can it wait a few more chapters (I was planning on holding off on it for a little bit)? By action, I mean actual action, not the dirty kind. And the ever-so important question. The cat's name? Did you like it? I thought it would be cute if they had both named him after a Shakespearian character. (: Honestly, anything would help. Review or send me a message please! I would REALLY appreciate it! Guests are welcome to review as well!**

**Next update is coming I don't know when because I am still thinking of what to do with it. Plus, I have a job, and my parent's think I spend too much time on my laptop. So, I may need to slow it down a bit.**

**Love you guys, night! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

**OHHH MY GOSH guys, I am so sorry for not updating sooner! I've been SO busy with work and life and everything. Plus my mother continues to nag at me for being on my laptop so often. She thinks I need to get a hobby. (I haven't and will never tell her that I am writing fanfiction. She's embarrassed enough that I talk about this stuff on a regular basis. Do you know what she would do if she found out I actually wrote about it and posted it for the world to see? Scary.) Anyway, aside from that, I have been suffering from extreme writers block. I know what sort of things I want to put into the story but I'm having trouble executing them. I want it to seem like something the actual Sherlock might do, and I think I may be making him too… mushy? **

**Anyway, thank you all for your support! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favorited and followed! I really appreciate that guys! Some of the reviews have made me cry happy tears. I love you guys! It helps my self-esteem a lot and it helps me continue writing—despite what my mom says. HAHA! **

**I do not own Sherlock!**

* * *

Chapter 9

Sherlock woke up at around 5:30 AM the next morning.

He looked around for a moment. It was still dark out but there was a cool light streaming in from the window. He looked down, saw Molly wrapped around him, and found that his own arms were holding her. He automatically lifted his hands off of her as if they were touching something forbidden. His brows knitted together and his eyes shifted around. _What the hell?_

The memories from the night before came crashing back. Molly- screaming in terror. She had had a dream. A nightmare. About Tom…

His face turned sad. Deeply sad. He was worried about her.

He untangled himself from her and made his way down the hall and into the living room. He grabbed his violin and sat down in his chair in the dark room. He plucked at the strings, careful not to wake Molly.

In his mind, he replayed last night. Screaming. A scream that chilled him to the bone. Crying. Molly begging Sherlock to get away from her. He could remember seeing the fear and anguish in her eyes. She had thought that Sherlock was Tom again. A pang went through his chest. He had held her tightly against him, trying to sooth the pain and bad memories away.

Tom. That sick _fucking_ bastard. Was Moriarty really involved? Was he back? There had been a clue… _That_ is very Moriarty-like. Tom didn't know anyone had been coming. It was obviously someone else who had painted that message. It wasn't a very clever clue… Sherlock had been lucky to know that that particular paint had a certain ingredient in it called Pallidroxyllium. It was deemed unsafe to use inside because of the fumes it gave off. A small amount wouldn't hurt, but overexposure could be very harmful. It was made illegal in 1972. There were five factories in London that had made paint with Pallidroxyllium in it in the past. Two of them were in Central London and only one of them was currently abandoned. Sherlock could smell it permeating threw the air in his flat. All that studying he had done had paid off. It was something ridiculously useless to know, but ended up mattering more to Sherlock in that moment than anything else. It was a way to get to Molly. It is why Molly is with him here today, safe and sound, sleeping in his room. But was it Moriarty? Were they truly safe?

Tom did not die that day in the basement. He is currently in a coma. When he wakes up- if he wakes up- he will be interrogated. Sherlock will most certainly be there; Mycroft would make sure of it. Sherlock had not heard from Mycroft since he had used his resources to help him find Molly. He didn't really care, though. He had enough on his plate. He was sure Mycroft did as well (as in cake). Though it was childish, Sherlock laughed out loud at this slightly- bearing only a few teeth.

A small voice said, "What is it?"

Sherlock snapped back into reality.

Molly was sitting in John's chair. She had an open book in her lap. She had a curious smile playing at her lips. "What," said Sherlock?

Molly's smile faltered for only a second. "You laughed?"

"Umm… How long have you been sitting there?"

"Bout twenty minutes," Molly's face fell flat.

"Oh…" Sherlock said a bit awkwardly. He averted his eyes, trying to think of what to do. He looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:30.

After an awkwardly long pause, Molly said, "Sh- Sherlock, I-I'm _so _sorry about last night," _Oh great, more stuttering. _She thought to herself, embarrassed.

Sherlock had to refrain from rolling his eyes at her. _Oh wonderful, more stuttering. _

"It… It's not like me to have… nightmares th-that intense. I'm sorry I woke you," she said, by the end of the sentenced, it came out as a whisper. _Oh God,_ _Molly, just stop talking… _She thought as her cheeks flushed pink.

"Everything that you went through, and you are apologizing for having nightmares about it?" he asked, slightly confused.

"No, I just-" she started to say before Sherlock interrupted her.

"Molly, you don't ever have to apologize for something like that. To anyone. Especially me," he said, slightly shaking his head. His voice was quiet, but very serious.

Molly smiled a bit and said, "I just hate that I woke you up."

"I was already awake," Sherlock stated bluntly.

Molly's eyebrows furrowed but her voice stayed cheery. "But you're not on a case. Just couldn't sleep?"

Sherlock looked away from her and sort of stayed still for a moment, contemplating what to say. "Yes. That's it."

"Can't get use to the guestroom? If not, we could switch rooms."

"No. One, there isn't a bed in the guestroom, I've been sleeping on the couch. Two, you couldn't make it up and down those steps repeatedly even if there were a bed."

"You've been sleeping on the couch? Sherlock, you told me it wasn't going to be an inconvenience," Molly said while raising her voice a tiny bit.

"It's not. I sleep on the couch half the time, anyway," said Sherlock matter of factly.

There was a pause, "You're sure…?"

Sherlock nodded. He then wondered if Mollyknew about him sleeping in the bed with her last night… He decided to not say anything. It may make her feel uncomfortable.

"And… thank you for… staying with me last night… that was very kind of you," Molly said, blushing a deep red.

_Ok, she _does _know. _Sherlock flatly said, "I didn't mind."

Molly's face snapped towards him when she heard that. "What?"

"I didn't mind," he said as if she just hadn't heard him.

Molly didn't know what to say to this. She couldn't help the butterflies growing inside her.

"Do you want breakfast?" Sherlock asked her.

Molly smiled up at him and said, "Oh, yes, please."

Sherlock smiled, "Alright, I'll make something. You want a coffee while you wait?"

"No! Uhh… I mean… tea if you don't mind," she couldn't bare have another drop of Sherlock's coffee.

Sherlock boiled the water and poured it into a pot. He let Molly fix it the way she liked it. Unless she wanted milk…

He decided on making pancakes. He didn't have the milk or the eggs for it, so he decided to just use water. After stirring the batter for a while, he got frustrated and decided that it was close enough. The bowl was full of thin liquid with white lumps in it. He poured the "batter" onto the pan that sat on the stove.

It eventually burned because he got distracted by various samples he was looking at under his microscope.

Molly had taken her tea and book from John's chair to the sofa so she could watch. It was rather amusing. He kept mumbling to himself, grunting in frustration, and slamming his utensils down and around. He overheard her giggling at him.

"What?!" he snapped at her irritably.

"You doing okay?" She said with a grin on her face.

"No! Breakfast might be a while, dear," Sherlock cocked his head and smiled, but Molly could tell he was angry.

"Do you need any-"

"Hoo hoo!" they heard at the door. Mrs. Hudson came in with a tray full of scones.

Sherlock sighed in relief, "Oh, thank God." He walked up to her, kissed her cheek, and took the tray. "Thank you, so much, Mrs. Hudson."

"I could smell the stink of your cookin' all the way down stairs, dear!" She chuckled at him. "I thought you might need a bit of help."

Sherlock smirked. "You will stay and eat with us, won't you?"

Mrs. Hudson continued to smile. "No, I think I'll leave you two alone for a while." She looked over at Molly and winked.

"You sure?" Molly spoke up.

Mrs. Hudson waved as she walked out the door, not saying another word. Sherlock and Molly looked at one another and shrugged.

The scones were delicious. They were still warm and they melted in your mouth.

Sherlock stared at Molly as she ate her blueberry scone. She noticed him and blushed. He smiled at this. He admired the way she blushed. It was quite adorable when the blood pooled in her cheeks and turned them a light pink. He wanted to see her blush again. He had a deep desire to kiss her cheek as well for some reason. He figured he could accomplish both tasks in one action. Without really thinking about it (which was _not _like Sherlock _at all_) he leaned over on the couch and planted a gentle -yet firm- kiss on her cheek- while he placed his hand on the jaw line on her opposite side. Sherlock heard a small gasp come from her lips.

When he pulled away, his eyes darted towards her cheeks to see them fully flushed in pink. He smiled at seeing this reaction from her, even showing his teeth a bit. He looked up and saw that her eyes were wide in shock and her pupils were ever so slightly dilated.

_Quite the reaction… interesting… _Sherlock thought to himself. He began to wonder what else she would react to. He quickly decided that this was not the time or place to be thinking of such things. "Excuse me."

He walked towards to the bathroom to take a shower.

Molly just sat there for a moment. She didn't know what to think of _this_ Sherlock. He has changed. Perhaps for the best? Maybe? She couldn't tell yet. It was rather confusing still.

* * *

Sherlock stripped from his pajamas and stepped into the shower.

The previous contemplation was still in his mind. His mind began to wonder into dangerous territory. Territory that he had warded off many years ago. He began to wonder what Molly's lips would feel like against his own cheek. They were thin, but they always looked so soft and smooth. His thoughts then began to wonder how they would feel against his lips, or his neck, or chest…

_God, what is wrong with me? _He thought to himself as he noticed his erection. He wondered what Molly would do if she noticed he had gotten an erection, or worse- if she knew what had caused it. He blushed at just the thought of this. But what if it had caused her to become sexually aroused? What if she came in right now, and saw that he had an erection? That would be absurd; Molly would be too squeamish to enter while she knew he were in here; even for a reasonable motive. But the 'what if' questions still distracted him. Though, they were highly unrealistic, they became more and more elaborate.

Sherlock surprised himself when he felt his hand grasp his throbbing erection. He let out an accidental groan filled half with frustration, half with lust. His eyes popped open and darted toward the door, hoping Molly hadn't heard.

He turned the water ice cold, and finished his shower.

* * *

Molly was sitting on the sofa, reading her book, when she heard a moan come from the bathroom…

_Oh. My. God. Is he..? No. He's probably... Umm… _She thought to herself.

When she heard the door open a few minutes later, she couldn't help but lean over the arm of the sofa to look at him. He walked out and turned towards his bedroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. His back was muscular and strong. She noticed on his right shoulder blade, that he had a large pink mark. She knew by looking at it that it had been a deep cut. It was six inches long. She wanted to examine it to see if she could discover more about it. She wanted to ask him about it. She also wanted to see the rest of him… without the towel. Because that moan had sort of turned her on… and Sherlock was sexy… and those two reasons go hand in hand fairly well.

When Sherlock turned around to close the door, he saw that Molly had been watching him. They kept eye contact for several moments until Sherlock finally closed the door, almost reluctantly. Molly sat there for a few minutes, trying to read her book. Her thoughts were too invasive, so she was forced to close it. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair… She needed a shower as well. She got up and slowly made her way towards the bathroom. When she was a few feet away from the door, Sherlock's bedroom door had opened and Molly saw him standing there in a tight buttoned up white shirt with black pants and dress shoes.

Sherlock stared down at her intensely. This stopped her in her tracks. She had been wearing a baggy shirt with a joke on the Bourne-Oppenheimer approximation on the front (when Sherlock had seen it the night before, he smiled). She also wore a pair of pink, cotton shorts. She preferred wearing either no trousers to bed or her long flannel ones. But she didn't think Sherlock would appreciate her sleeping in his bed with only her knickers, and the flannel pants kept sticking to her bandages, making them hard to put on. She was glad that she would only have to wear the bandages for a few more days. She knew she probably did not need them anymore, but she wanted to be extra cautious.

Sherlock was sort of staring at her legs. They were very nice legs, despite the cuts and bruises, he had to admit. If Molly were observant, she would have noticed that his pupils were slightly dilated once again, just as hers had been. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I was just going to get a shower myself," she said, as she noticed the buttons on his shirt strain as he took a deep breath.

"Hm," he said quietly as he nodded, "Are you going to be able to stand for that long?"

"If I get tired, I suppose I'll just sit down," she said, shrugging.

Sherlock let out the breath he had been holding. He slowly walked passed her, not breaking eye contact until he had to.

Molly felt as if her insides were on fire, in a good way. She was tingling all over. She remembered the moan she had heard Sherlock let out while he was in the shower. The same shower she was standing in now. She wondered if he _had_ been masturbating. The idea had caused her to tingle even more. She smiled as she began scrubbing shampoo into her long hair.

When she had first woken up after being rescued, her inner thighs and vagina had been incredibly sore. They weren't so bad now, but when she slowly reached down, she felt a dull aching as she pressed her fingers on different areas of skin. The pain got sharper, the harder she pressed. She wasn't ready for any sort of physical activity of that kind, and wouldn't be for a while. She continued to wash herself and shave around the scabs and scars as best she could on her legs.

She did end up needing to sit down, her legs were beginning to wobble a bit about three quarters of the way through the shower. When she was finished, she turned the water off. She tried to stand up and get out of the tub at the same time. There was a bit of soap at the bottom of the tub and Molly slipped and fell onto the bathroom floor, letting out a loud squeak. Though it was a loud thump, she did not get hurt. She had not been that far away from the floor before she slipped.

She laid there for a moment and thought, _Did I really just do that?_

She tried to get up but she was very slow at it. She was propped up on her elbows and laying on her right hip when the door burst open.

"Molly!" Sherlock said, he looked as if he were about to have a heart attack.

"Sherlock!" Molly, forgetting anything else, tried to cover herself with her hands.

"You fell! Are you alright? I heard a crash and heard you scream." Sherlock was on his knees next to Molly in a fraction of a second, trying to help her in some way.

"I-I just s-slipped. I'm… fine, really," she said. She had flipped over on her back- probably with Sherlock's help- and her legs were bent up and crossed. Falling had knocked the air out of her, she was breathing fairly hard. Her arms crossed over her chest to hide her breasts from him.

The memory of yesterday went through her mind. _"And besides, you don't have much to cover up, anyway," _he had said to her. She became sort of angry at this, even though he had apologized. She realized he was right, there wasn't much of a point for covering up in front of him. He did not care, he did not feel that way about Molly, or maybe anyone, for that matter. It was as if she were going out of her way to cover herself up in front of Tybalt, ridiculous. She dropped her hands and tried to sit up by pushing up onto her elbows. She may as well help him help her to her feet.

Sherlock noticed this sudden movement and couldn't help but glance down to make sure there were no injuries from her fall. She had healed tremendously since last week, but still had remaining scars and bruises. Sherlock's hand reached out and traced one of the worse ones. It happened to have been right above her breasts. Her breasts were fuller than he had thought they were. He had noticed this when he found her at the warehouse, but now, he had more time to appreciate their… fullness. Sherlock had seen plenty of women's breasts. All but one of them had been dead and that one had been Irene Adler's. Molly's were surprisingly fuller than Irene's, but just barely. Irene's breasts had never affected Sherlock in this way though…

Sherlock, his hand still barely touching her scar, looked up to Molly's eyes. She looked at him with wide, shocked eyes filled with insecurity. Sherlock began to pull back when he noticed something else in her eyes. Desire, want, lust…

Though he had to force himself, he grabbed a towel and threw it over her. He knelt down and helped her up as best he could. "Will you need my help with the bandages?" Sherlock tried to say coolly.

"Yes, when I get done with the ones on my legs, thank you," Molly said quietly. Sherlock nodded in response.

* * *

Sherlock waited outside his room. He was leaned up against the wall, his head laid back. He tried to slow his breathing. All that he could think of was Molly. Molly invaded every crevice of his mind. Half of him wanted to barge into his room, wrap Molly in his arms and kiss and touch every part of her body she would allow. The other half wanted to send her away somewhere else so she could not distract him as he started a new case. Both impulses were equally powerful. He was angry at himself for thinking either.

Molly opened the door with the towel draped over her chest. "I'll drop it when you start to wrap it around me."

"Alright," Sherlock said, nearly at a whisper.

Sherlock walked into the room with her, and began to treat her wounds again. They did not face the mirror this time. He went just as slow as last time, not daring to talk, not wanting to cut this procedure short like last time. When he finished applying the cream, he grabbed the bandage.

When it came time for Molly to drop the towel, Sherlock cleared his throat and waited.

Molly took a deep breath, dropped the towel, and raised her arms out of Sherlock's way. Sherlock, like last time, had to bend down and wrap his arms around Molly's tiny waist. His face came millimeters away from her soft skin on her shoulder. She could feel his hot breath blow against her skin. It gave her shivers. He finally finished. He didn't want to stop just yet.

A bit more of Sherlock's strength towards resistance gave in as he allowed his hands to grasp her waist and his lips to softly brush across her shoulder, causing her to shiver even more.

Molly jumped and gasped softly. She had not expected that.

Sherlock pulled back immediately. What he was, and who he was came crashing back through his mind. He was the only consulting detective in the world. He was above human needs, human weakness, and other humans in general. He was married to his work, the game was never over; he did not need distractions. Molly was just a distraction. She was his friend. Nothing more. _Nothing. _The other half of his brain felt as if the other half was scolding him. That part of him was sad. Sad that Molly could never be more than a friend and a sort of colleague. Sad that he could never make her truly happy, never truly be what she needed, and never be what she deserves. "Apologies, Doctor Hooper."

He walked out the door without another word. Plopping himself in front of the microscope, not intending to leave until he memorized everything there was to know about the fifty slides sitting on the counter a few feet away.

Molly stood there for a moment in Sherlock's room, not knowing what had just happened. _Did he actually kiss me? On the shoulder? It didn't really feel like a kiss; it felt as if a feather was slid across my skin. Did he mean to do it? If it was a kiss, then he has kissed me twice today. Why does he keep kissing me? That kiss was different; it felt… intimate. He apologized though. Why did he apologize? Was it because I jumped? Should I have stopped him? He forgot to wrap my wrists… I suppose I can do it myself. _Her mind continued to real as she began to wrap her bandages around her wrists. She decided to wear actual clothes today. She found the loosest pair of nice-_ish _trousers she could find and a blouse she would have worn to work. They were ugly but they looked like how she normally dressed. She also liked that all of her scars were covered up and most of her bruises were too. She walked out into the living room to see Sherlock frantically studying a sample underneath his microscope. She sighed and went to the couch to begin reading her book once again. She knew it was going to be a very uneventful day…

Molly finished her book at 2:30 P.M.

Mark called her at around 3:00 P.M. to see how she had settled in at Sherlock's. She ended up having to talk to Donna and their four children. The phone call ended up lasting over an hour. Sherlock continued to glance up at her when she wasn't looking. He even smiled when he overheard her talking to the youngest of the Hooper family.

When dinner time came around, she rummaged through the kitchen to find something to eat while Sherlock continued to look through his microscope. She found some crisps, bread, and peanut butter. She made two peanut butter sandwiches and poured a handful of crisps next to each. She placed a plate next to Sherlock, then took hers to the couch where she started a movie. Sherlock was washed over with guilt for not bothering to help her or offer to do it. He stopped to take a bite of the sandwich every once in a while even though he wasn't hungry.

When Molly was done, she took her dishes back to the kitchen to see that Sherlock had eaten only a few bites. She sighed, then went to his room to change clothes. It was 8:00 now… She was pretty sure Sherlock was just going through the motions of examining his microscope now. She knew he did that a lot of the times when he wanted you to shut up or to go away. She was so use to this behavior, she was not offended.

She sat on the bed and got her laptop out for a while. She went through a few files of paperwork from Bart's. They were old and outdated, but Molly still wanted to look them over. She was sure they had dealt with her work for her while she was away, but she had nothing better to do.

At around 10:00 P.M. Molly decided to go to bed. Though the day was uneventful, she felt exhausted. She laid in the soft, cool bed and relaxed. The bed smelt strongly of Sherlock. She loved it, she buried her face into the pillow and took a big whiff. It was something sharp like mint or sage but a sweet after note. It was truly intoxicating. Within a few minutes, she was in a deep sleep.

* * *

Sherlock finally stopped pretending to look through the microscope when he saw that Molly had gone to his room. He laid on the couch with his hands steepled underneath his chin for a while. He went through his mind palace just for the hell of it, Molly followed him everywhere he went. He did not protest. Sherlock's eyes popped open when he heard a noise come from his bedroom. He lifted his head up to see what it was. He looked at his watch; it was almost midnight. He walked silently through the hallway until he got to his door. He heard the noise again. He could tell it was Molly.

He opened the door and saw her lying on the bed in the fetal position, shaking and whimpering quietly.

She was probably having another nightmare. He didn't know if he should wake her or just walk away. He didn't want to scare her like he had last night…

Sherlock, without thinking this through, began to undress. He threw his clothes into the hamper and changed into his loose cotton trousers and white cotton shirt. He pulled the covers back on the opposite end of Molly and slid under them. He slowly inched his way toward her; ever inch he got closer to her, the bed around him got warmer and warmer. She was facing the other way, so he slid his arm slowly around her waist and pulled her towards him. He used his body to sort of conceal her. He whispered to her words of comfort and reassurance even though he knew she couldn't hear him, and he softly brushed his fingers up and down her arm and waist to try and sooth her back into an easy sleep. After a few minutes, Molly relaxed and slumped into Sherlock's body. Sherlock curled himself around her a bit more and relaxed as well. His arm was still wrapped around her, and his face was at the top of her head. He dipped his chin towards his neck, and kissed her soundly. "Goodnight, Molly."

Molly made a sort of sigh that sounded almost like a "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock eventually fell asleep with the little spoon wrapped in his arms. He sort of enjoyed spooning, it was warm and soft. He could feel her pulse against him and he could hear her breathing steadily. It was therapeutic.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, so I know this one was a bit slow and boring. I really want Sherlock to fight these feelings he's having because I think that is what the Sherlock on the show would do. I seriously had to work hard on this chapter. I wanted to get into the mushy gushy stuff ASAP and I did, but then I thought, "Sherlock would NOT do that. He is stubborn." So I went back and paced myself. This isn't my favorite chapter, it's kind of a filler but I still liked bits and pieces of it. I hope y'all liked it! Let me know what you think! Do you agree? What is something you would like to see happen? Am I going too slowly? Anything would help, guys! Love you! **

**Not sure when the next update will be, please bear with me! Bye!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, get ready for some FLUFF people! **

**It's finally happening! Are you ready? I am half way excited to post this and half way nervous as hell! **

**To my Guest who reviewed to me last time, thank you. Thank you so, so much. Being able to make people cringe internally by reading my work is my life's goal. Haha! And I listened to those songs you listed as soon as I read your post, I agree with you SO MUCH! They go along with various parts of the story almost perfectly! I had never heard any of those songs before, so it was not intentional. Your review was awesome, thank you so much!**

**I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

Chapter 10

Molly woke up in the middle of the night. The bed was so warm and cozy; she stretched her legs out and buried her face deep in her pillow. Sherlock's scent filled her to the brink.

She felt something heavy on her waist. She opened her eyes and looked down; a rather large arm was draped over her.

She paused for a moment,_ Sherlock?_

She slowly turned her body around to face him, careful not to wake him.

_Why is he in bed with me? _

Despite this surprising turn of events, sleep still clouded her mind. She looked up at his face in awe. His face was the definition of peaceful. He was unguarded and Molly marveled at all of his features, while she had the chance. His skin glowed white with the cool light from the window streaming in on him. His curls were ebony in contrast to his skin. His lips were slightly parted; they looked so, so soft and pink.

Molly absentmindedly pressed a finger on his cupid's bow. He let out a sigh.

She remembered yesterday when those lips kissed her cheek and brushed against her shoulder, sending shivers throughout her entire body. She sighed at the memory.

She paused for a moment, thinking. She had never kissed Sherlock. He was always the one kissing her on her hand, her check, her forehead, and etc. She tentatively lifted her head up towards him. She stretched her neck as far as it would go, but she could only reach is chin. She sighed, then planted a gentle kiss on the end of his chin. She could feel the stubble when she kissed him. It was kind of sexy.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.

_Oops!_

Sherlock stared at Molly for a moment without saying anything. His eyes were calculating; his face was unreadable to her. He couldn't see the bruises on her while the room was so dark. She looked so beautiful though; even her dark silhouette caused Sherlock's breath to catch. He only continued to stare.

Molly cringed with embarrassment. His eyes were an icy blue with the light hitting them just right. He did nothing but stare at her with those eyes for what seemed like forever.

She began to sink away from him when the arm that was around her stopped her from moving further away from him. His hand hesitantly moved towards her face; his thumb began to brush across her cheekbone over and over again softly. He continued to stare.

This sent a chill throughout Molly's whole body. She was stunned at what was happening, but it was amazing, all the same.

Sherlock's fingers slid gently into her hair as he moved his lips to hers, softly engulfing her bottom lip with both of his.

Molly made a sort of noise before his lips touched hers, then she froze. She was stunned. What had happened to Sherlock?

Molly did not really react to Sherlock's kiss, which surprised him. In all his other dreams, she had been the one to initiate their physical activities. He had never had to provoke her. His tongue ventured forward to slide across her bottom lip. This caused her to gasp, which Sherlock used to his advantage as he deepened the kiss. Molly moaned into his mouth.

Molly blushed from moaning, but felt Sherlock's lips curl into a smile. Her mind buzzed with ecstasy. Her right hand slipped around to the back of his neck and into his curls. She began running her fingers through them frantically. His curls were one of his many features that Molly lusted over.

This time, Sherlock was the one to moan. His hair follicles where extremely sensitive, and the fingers running through them were driving his body mad. This caused his mind to explode in a million thoughts, and his every cell to burn with lust and desire. The pressure of the kiss began to roughen as they both filled with more and more hunger for one another.

Molly bent one of her legs forward and accidentally rubbed her knee against Sherlock's inner thigh.

Sherlock jumped and gasped at the feel of it. This was weird… His other dreams were nowhere near this intense. He was never able to taste her, or feel her. Not like this. Nothing like this. His mind raced in a thousand directions, but they were all of Molly. Molly filled every room and every corner of his mind palace. It wasn't enough, he wanted more, he wanted to know every part of her; he wanted to study every inch. His hand left her hair and snaked around her back. He tried to pull her closer, when her lips pulled away from him suddenly.

A yelp escaped her lips. Her eyes squeezed shut. He had pushed against the main scar on her back- along with a few of the smaller ones and bruises.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, while his arm shot away from her.

_Oh. Fuck. What is happening? _Sherlock looked at Molly, then around the room as he thought to himself ._… This is real. This is not a dream, you _idiot_! Oh, shit, shit, shit! I just snogged Molly Hooper… Molly Hooper, a rape victim. She was raped only a few weeks ago. And I just snogged her. _

Molly opened her mouth to tell Sherlock that her back was fine now, and that it didn't hurt anymore. Sherlock spoke before she got the chance.

"Ohhh _fuck!_" He rolled over onto his back and covered his face with his hands. "Molly, oh my _God_, I am _so _sorry. Shit!"

"It-It's okay, Sherlock, I-It doesn't hurt anymore," she said nervously. Why was he freaking out?

"It's not _just_ that, Molly. I.. I can't believe I did that to you. I am _so, so_ sorry," he began to get out of the bed without looking back at her.

Molly's face was full of confusion. "It… No, it- it's okay. Really.."

He was gone.

Molly sat there in stunned silence for a moment.

The empty space next to her was all she could concentrate on. Her heart felt as if it were made of lead, her chest began to hurt as tears filled her eyes. He didn't just regret hurting her, he regretting everything. The kiss. She had been half asleep, but it was the best kiss she had ever experienced. The feel of his lips on hers still lingered… She curled up into the comforter and tried to fall asleep.

She continued to sniff and snivel for a while until she finally did.

* * *

Sherlock laid on the couch, facing the wall. He was such a fucking idiot. He could hear Molly sniffing and holding back sobs in the other room… She might be in pain still; he should go see if she needed him to check her bandages. Especially the one he had pushed against. He cringed with guilt at the memory of hurting her only a few moments ago. He couldn't get himself to go back in there though. He couldn't face her just yet after what he did to her.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. Molly wasn't ready to have that sort of a relationship yet, so soon after Tom. Emotionally, mentally, or physically. She had been in love with Tom. That kind of trauma doesn't just go away in a few weeks. She's vulnerable and Sherlock took advantage of her. Sherlock did not need John to know that this was very much not good.

How could he not know it wasn't a dream? He scolded himself for being so idiotic. He scolded himself for having sex dreams about Molly in the past. He scolded himself for allowing sexual arousal get to him. He was above this. The pathologist in the other room had somehow begun to dismantle the walls he had built up around him for so many years. Anger surged through him at that thought. Anger towards Molly. Guilt immediately followed. It wasn't her fault.

Molly might want to leave after this… She might feel uncomfortable staying with him.

Sherlock's face fell… She had just gotten here, and he had already ruined everything. He wanted these next few weeks to go over perfectly. He was supposed to make her comfortable and help her heal, not shove his tongue down her throat and grope at her.

He did not want her to leave…

* * *

Molly woke up the next morning to the smell of omelets.

As she slowly walked down the hall, she called out, "Did you actually cook?"

Sherlock stood there smiling at her from the kitchen with two plates full of food. He paused and said, "Yyyee… Umm… no. I bought them. Sorry."

Molly smiled and said, "They smell fantastic!"

Sherlock smiled and pulled a chair out for her to sit in. "Good," he said a bit awkwardly.

She sat down and took a big whiff. Sherlock took the seat in front of her, placed a napkin on his lap, and grabbed his fork. He watched her take a bite of her omelet to see her reaction. She seemed to enjoy it, so he relaxed.

After a moment of silence, Molly said, "So…"

"So…"

"So. What was last night all about?" Molly said, surprisingly not stuttering. She was feeling a little brave this morning.

Sherlock was caught off guard by her bluntness. "Um. I'm sorry?" he said, not knowing what to say.

Molly's eyes furrowed. "Do you not remember last night?"

Sherlock, shocked at her casualness, said nothing.

A thought crossed her mind. Molly's eyes narrowed. "If you deleted it, I'm gonna kill you."

The thought of deleting the memory hadn't even crossed his mind, which was surprising. "Uh, no. No. I remember. I- I didn't delete it." _Oh great, now _I'm_ the one stuttering._

Molly blushed now, and looked down at her plate. _Well that was a bit rude of me…_

She quietly said, "Oh… Well?"

Sherlock looked down at his plate and said nothing.

Molly waited so long for a response that she finally gave up on hoping for one. She began to pick at her food when she finally heard Sherlock speak.

Sherlock said in a quiet voice, "I thought it was a dream…"

Molly just barely heard him. She looked up at him once again. Her brows furrowed as she continued to stare at him.

Sherlock looked up at her and quietly said, "Please, _please_ forgive me, Molly. For- for everything. I… it wasn't… I didn't mean to hurt you." He meant every meaning of the word 'hurt.'

Another pause.

"H-how is your back?"

Molly was befuddled by the man sitting in front of her. Stuttering? Not sure of himself? Apologizing? "It… It's fine. Thank you for asking…"

Sherlock gave a quick nod as he looked back down to his food. He took a small bite and stayed quiet.

"Do you usually have dreams like that?" Molly said, honestly curious. She never thought he ever even had thoughts like that, let alone…. Sex dreams.

Sherlock looked at her again. His eyebrows were raised, and his cheeks flushed pink. "Umm… Not _usually…_" Which wasn't a total lie. They had only started a few months after he got back from Russia.

Molly decided to not dig further into this after seeing his cheeks grow red.

"Why were you in bed with me in the first place?" she said, still feeling slightly brave.

"I didn't want you to get another nightmare again. I thought my presence might help. Or. Well. _A_ presence might help. Not mine specifically. Umm… It helped the other night, I figured it might have helped last night as well. You didn't have them, so… you're welcome."

Molly smirked at his simultaneous awkwardness and cockiness.

Sherlock saw and smirked back.

"If you are up to it, I thought we could go to Bart's today to do a few experiments and swipe a few organs to take home."

Molly grinned and said, "Really? Yes! That would be lovely!"

* * *

While Molly was taking a shower, Sherlock sat out in the hallway. He was worried she would fall and hurt herself again. He could hear her humming again. It sounded quite beautiful with her soft, high voice.

Molly opened the door with a towel wrapped around her. She looked down to see Sherlock looking up at her from the floor. With a curious look on her face, she said, "Umm… What're you doing?"

"You could have fallen again…"

Molly just smiled and made her way to Sherlock's bedroom.

They finally left around 10:00 AM. Sherlock wore a dark blue dress shirt along with black dress pants and dress shoes. Molly, on the other hand, wore a bright pink sweater with cherries on it, along with loose dark green trousers. Her hair was up in a high bun, with a braid surrounding the base of it. Sherlock couldn't hold back his grin when he saw how adorable she looked.

Molly took a while but finally made it down the steps and out the door, with Sherlock's help of course. Instead of just holding his arm out, he wrapped an arm around her waist and held her hand with his other. Sherlock told himself that this was a more efficient way to get her around, but deep down knew that he did this for selfish purposes as well.

As they walked through the doors of the hospital, Molly's face lit up in absolute elation. Her co-workers continued to come up to her, hug her, and talk to her.

Sherlock, always standing only inches away from her, tried to be a shadow. He tried to allow her to do what she wanted and allow her to talk for as long as she needed, even though they were moving at a glacial pace towards the lab… He had to concentrate on not rolling his eyes and huffing at every person who approached them.

Molly was surprisingly popular. Not surprising, really. She was kind and caring and a wonderful young woman.

_Let alone, very beautiful. _Sherlock added as a young man with a ridiculously large grin approached them.

"Oh, my God, Molly! You're back!" He opened his arms and engulfed her into a bear hug.

"_Careful_, she is still recovering!" Sherlock snapped at him.

Molly's grin fell when she heard Sherlock say that. "Sherlock, it's _fine_."

The man's grin had faded, but he still had a smile plastered on his face.

The man was maybe an inch shorter than Sherlock. He had reddish-brown curls that were cleanly cut. He looked to be in his early thirties; possibly Molly's age. He was lean, obviously athletic in some way. Not as lanky as Sherlock was, but still about the same muscular build. Though he looked young, he had wrinkles on the sides of his eyes; possibly due to excessive smiling. Obviously had braces at some point in his life, his teeth were extremely straight. He was wearing scrubs, so he was obviously a nurse or doctor, but according to his hands and forearms he was more specifically a surgeon. His pupils were not dilated but his feelings towards Molly were apparent. He could barely take his eyes off of her for more than a few seconds.

Despite Molly's statement, Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the man.

"Oh, Molly, you _must _let me take you out for lunch today! It's been so long!" the man smiled down at her with his perfectly strait teeth. He was genuinely pleased to see her doing well after what happened.

Molly smiled, but looked up at Sherlock, "Oh, well…"

The man looked at Sherlock too. His stupid grin faltered, but only for a moment. "Oh, your friend is more than welcome to come," he said, gesturing towards Sherlock. Sherlock could tell he didn't really mean it, but was too polite to say anything.

"I'd love to! Sherlock?" she said expectantly.

Sherlock didn't say anything to this for a while; his eyes continued to bore holes into the man standing in front of them. Molly elbowed him. Sherlock blinked and said, "Sure."

The man smiled and nodded, then said, "Well it's great to see you back, Molls," while leaning in for another hug.

Molly smiled. "It's great to see you too, Phillip," she said as he kissed her cheek.

Sherlock's blood began to boil. He scoffed out loud and said, "Okay, wonderful, you said hello. If you don't mind, _Phillip_, we must be off to the lab to experiment on a possible murder victim's lungs."

Phillip reluctantly walked away.

Molly turned towards Sherlock, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sherlock's eyebrows raised in surprise. "What?"

"Phillip is my friend, and you were being rude to him!"

Sherlock paused for a moment, "The excessive hugging could have damaged your wounds; I was merely making sure you wouldn't get hurt."

"Bull shit, you jealous git!"

"Oh, please," Sherlock said. His voice dripped with derision; his lips curled into a sneer. "Why on _earth_ would I be jealous of _him? _He has the intellectual capacity of a teaspoon. When compared to yours or mine, his mind is equivalent to one of a dog. He is slightly colorblind, heart disease runs in his family, and his sister's husband is cheating on her with his other sister. And, if you will forgive me, _I _was the one snogging you this morning,_ not _him. Tell me, Molly, _why _would I be jealous?"

Molly scoffed in offence. "We are _just friends! _He is actually a very smart man, and don't you _dare_ tell him about his sisters! And on that last note, I thought you said it was a mistake that you snogged me! Why are you bringing it up now?"

An older woman walking past them, kept giving them curious glares.

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. "Can we _please _just get to the lab?" It was getting hard for Sherlock to fight with her while his arm was still wrapped around her.

"_Fine_."

They finally made it to the lab, not having said another word to one another.

Sherlock brought Molly a microscope, a tray, scalpels, empty slides, gloves, and etc. They continued to dissect various parts of the lungs and setting slivers of it on the slides. They worked in silence for hours. Sherlock finally cracked.

"I keep having to apologize to you…"

"You keep being an arse," Molly said while looking into her microscope.

"Yes, well… I _do _apologies for my earlier outburst and my rude behavior."

Molly looked up to him and paused. "Tell me why you were jealous."

"I wasn't-"

"Sherlock."

"I don't know. Didn't like the look of him." Sherlock blew off nonchalantly as he looked back into his microscope. "I won't intrude on your lunch date, though."

Molly paused and looked up at him, "But I… want you to come…"

Sherlock looked up at her again. "You do?"

Molly nodded slightly.

A small smile played at his lips, and one of his eyebrows raised up a bit. "Alright."

Molly smiled and added, "And it's not a date."

Sherlock smirked at the familiar words, and continued working.

Phillip arrived at the lab at around 2:00 to pick Molly up. Sherlock quickly got to Molly to help her before Phillip could. He moved his lips close to her ear and murmured, "You sure you want me to come?"

Molly discreetly nodded as she put on her jumper. His breath against her neck sent shivers throughout her body.

She had to admit that Phillip was a very attractive man. _Very _attractive. He was also intelligent. He graduated top of his class, he was charming, he was a gentleman, and Molly has known him for years.

But Sherlock… Sherlock was not just handsome, he was beautiful. He wasn't just smart, he was brilliant. He wasn't always charming and polite, but he knew when he crossed the line. He was getting better. He was the most wonderful man she had ever known and no one could ever measure up to him.

She was so blinded by her love for Sherlock she could not see the way Phillip looked at her. She couldn't see the pain that filled his face when he saw the cuts around her forearm or the yellow-green bruise around her eye. She didn't notice that the kiss on her cheek lasted a little too long, and she didn't notice his arms try to linger when she pulled away from the hug.

Sherlock noticed. He noticed everything. He noticed his narrowed eyes when he looked at Sherlock, he noticed his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, and he noticed every movement he made that involved Molly.

"So, where to?" Molly said cheerfully.

* * *

They ended up going to a deli that was a few minutes away from the hospital.

Phillip sat on the opposite side of Sherlock, while Molly sat on the side between them. Phillip and Molly did most of the talking. Sherlock merely observed.

Phillip leaned in and turned towards Molly while they spoke, obviously absentmindedly trying to pull the focus to him rather than to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at Molly while she spoke to Phillip. Her body was sitting strait forward while her head was turned towards Phillip, obviously absentmindedly keeping Sherlock _in _the conversation.

Sherlock could tell Molly was happy to be here talking to Phillip, but she was not sexually interested in him due to the signs she was _not _putting off.

A thought crossed his mind. He moved his hand over to her lap, where her hand was placed. His fingers brushed across her thigh until they landed on her hand. He took it with his own and waited for a reaction.

She looked down at his hand, then looked into his eyes. Her arm was covered in goose bumps and her pupils grew ever so slightly. Her hand gave Sherlock's a small squeeze as she continued her conversation with Phillip. He had barely noticed, the stupid clot.

Sherlock smiled from this insignificant victory.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**Okay so I know this one is a bit choppy.**

**This chapter and I have a love/hate relationship. I'll read it at one time and be like, "Wow! I love it!" Then read it another time and be like, "Umm… what the hell was I thinking?"**

**I know this one probably has a lot of typos, I'll come back and try to fix them later. I was getting tired of rewriting and I wanted to give you guys **_**something**_** to read lol**

**I don't know if y'all could tell, but Phillip looks a whole lot like Tom Hiddleston in my head. Because I have a theory that Tom looks extremely attractive in scrubs. **

**Also, the hair thing. I read somewhere that Benedict's scalp is extremely sensitive so I thought I'd throw that into the mix. Also, Loo has supposedly admitted to **_**loving**_** his hair in the show as opposed to his usual light brown locks. Not sure if these are true, but I thought it would be fun to introduce things from their actual lives as well. (Plus: I am obsessed with those dark silky locks of his!)**

**Please, Please, Please review! I want y'all's opinions! Too much fluff? Not enough fluff? Am I ruining everything? Am I ruining nothing? Guests are more than welcome to review as well! I value everyone's opinion, and I appreciate them soooo much!**

**Love you guys, bye! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you for all my followers, and thank you to the ones who favorited! Everyone who reviewed,** **thank you thank you thank you so much! I REALLY appreciate the opinions and comments! They are very helpful! **

**While I am writing this, I am also watching A Study in Pink. It is one of my favorites. My giant stuffed panda, Raj, is generously acting as my giant back cushion. My dog, Lilly, is begging to join me so she can cuddle. She is adorable. **

**I just bought a map the other day where the continents are made of different colored paint splatters. I really love that map. It's hanging next to my book shelves now. I love my bookshelves. Every time I see my large collection of books and trinkets, it warms my heart. **

**Not sure why I am telling y'all any of this; perhaps I'm delaying this chapter as long as I can. It's… I… I don't know what to say about it. I can't tell if I love this chapter or if I am absolutely embarrassed from its awkwardness. Maybe both.**

**Damn. Benedict Cumberbatch is sexy as fuck. If you'll excuse my language. Just saw the nicotine patch scene, sorry. Ahhh… I love this show so much.**

**Steve and Mark are so much better at this than I am. I am so thankful for them. All hail Steve and Mark! Hail!**

**Ok, I know I'm acting weird this time…**

**So…**

**Welp… here ya go.**

**I do NOT own Sherlock.**

* * *

Chapter 11

"So how are you and Molly doing?" asked John, who sounded much too chipper for a man hovering over a dead body. By Lestrade's request, they had been called out on a case earlier that morning. Sherlock had looked it over, deemed it a 4, and met John at the crime scene half an hour later.

Sherlock, who was carefully examining a handbag, furrowed his eyebrows and said, "You want to talk about this now?"

John just smirked and continued giving a questioning stare in Sherlock's direction. "It's just that you two have been living together, and you've barely made contact with the outside world since she got released from the hospital."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and let out an exasperated sigh. "If you are suggesting that Molly and I are engaging in sexual intercourse, you _should_ already know that she is not yet capable of enduring such physical activities. You seemed like _such_ a capable doctor, John; I would have thought even _you_ could figure that out for yourself."

John looked at him with an agape mouth.

"And for the record, we _have _'made contact with the outside world.' Went to the lab the other day for an experiment on the lungs of our last murder victim."

"Mhm, how did that go?"

"Fine," Sherlock said, then his facial expression changed as he said, "until some stupid man interrupted us just to suggest lunch. It was a horrible inconvenience and a waste of time."

"Wait, wait, he asked Molly out on a date?"

"I suppose, but he ended up asking me to attend as well; obviously just to be polite. It was clearly not sincere," Sherlock almost sneered.

"Did you go?"

Sherlock quirked his eyebrows as he continued to work. "Of course."

John grinned and said, "Jealous git."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What do you do when you are together in the flat though? Seriously. Mary's been hounding me to find out about you two."

Sherlock, who was starting to become impatient with John's insistent questioning, said, "Eat, shower, watch telly, sleep, etc."

"Really? Sounds a bit boring by your standards."

"Nope," Sherlock said nonchalantly.

John smiled at this answer. "You could take her out on a date or something. Try and do something fun."

"Mm," said Sherlock, who was losing interest in the conversation as he found something interesting in the seams of the hand bag.

"You could take her out to dinner, or to a pub, or to the cinema?"

"Mhmm," Sherlock said while completely engrossed in the case- barely hearing what John said.

"Aha!" Sherlock got out his phone and texted the absent Lestrade,

IF THE DAUGHTER HAS RED HAIR, IT WAS THE NEIGHBOR. CHECK THE GARAGE FOR A STASH OF MONEY. –SH

Sherlock looked over at John, "Solved it; see you later." He walked to the street to get a taxi; in a hurry to get back home- back to his Molly.

* * *

The few times Sherlock had to leave Molly for a case, he made sure she was with someone he trusted full heartedly. Right now, she was having tea and watching telly with Mrs. Hudson. When Sherlock went on the case with the lungs, Mary took her out for lunch. Sherlock couldn't leave her all by herself: defenseless and vulnerable. He had to keep her safe.

On the ride home, Sherlock wondered about what John had said. He wondered if Molly was bored staying with him. He hadn't even thought of the possibility of it until now. He certainly wasn't bored. Every time he saw her, memories of their kiss came rushing back. Every deduction or discovery she made while doing experiments caused Sherlock to be both greatly impressed and turned on at the same time. When she wore her ridiculously short cotton shorts, he could barely tear his eyes away. He was definitely not bored. He began to worry that the feeling wasn't mutual for Molly. He knew he was a difficult man to live with. He tried to subdue his worst habits for the time being for her benefit, but failed half the time.

He couldn't just take her out on cases though to mend her boredom. He had only taken a 3 and a 4 due to not wanting to take up much of his time and not wanting to work on it at home. Though they were painfully dull; he still did not want Molly to attend. Anything could happen on those cases; he couldn't allow her to get hurt. He couldn't lose her. Not again. He wouldn't be able to survive losing her a second time.

She was in far too much danger as it was. Moriarty or not, there was someone still out there. They may or may not be a threat, but Sherlock worked vigorously to find out. He never went out for her case and he never worked on it in front of her. Lestrade would email him detailed reports, photographs, and anything else that could possibly be useful to him.

Sherlock worked on Molly's case whenever she was not paying attention or when she was asleep. As soon as she excused herself for bed, he would get his laptop out and work for exactly thirty minutes on the couch, in his chair, or at the desk. He would then go into his bedroom and continue working in bed, next to a sleeping Molly. If and when she started trembling or whimpering in her sleep, Sherlock would put his laptop away, crawl under the covers, and hold her steadily against the front of his torso. He would hold her close and whisper words of comfort until she stopped tremoring. He would eventually fall asleep with his Molly in his arms. He woke up every morning before she did, and crawled out of bed so that she wouldn't know. He didn't know if she knew; he would never bring it up to her just in case she didn't.

Despite her… mental and emotional state while sleeping, she was healing stupendously. Most of her cuts and scars looked pink and white instead of the horrible red or brown they had looked before. Only the stitched scars, which she no longer bandaged, stood out drastically from the rest of her body. The bruises had all turned a yellowish-green colour, including her eye. They were still scattered throughout her entire body, and she still got a lot of stares from people on the street, but she was healing. Thank God.

Her muscles were also growing stronger every day. Sherlock only had to carry her up the second half of the stairs one more time. She was able to climb them (slowly) by herself, and she no longer had to lean against the wall as she walked.

Molly's doctor had suggested she start stretching and exercising a small amount as soon as she felt up to it. She had started doing yoga every morning and evening in the lounge for 20 minutes. Sherlock, of course, did not participate, but always made sure to keep her company and make sure she did not hurt herself. He never mentioned any of the added benefits.

* * *

When Sherlock walked through the door of Mrs. Hudson's lounge, Molly's heart skipped a beat.

She had had a lovely time with Mrs. Hudson; they had shared gossip, a few laughs, and even a cry.

Mrs. Hudson's cooking was stupendous of course. She always made things from scratch. Molly loved to cook, but could never hope to be as good as Mrs. Hudson. The fresh chocolate biscuits melted in her mouth as she died and went to heaven.

But she could not hide her slight excitement as Sherlock arrived to take her back.

Sherlock held her hand as they ascended the stairs together, despite the fact that she no longer needed it. Molly blushed at the contact while Sherlock's heart fluttered in his chest.

Sherlock's hospitality had surprised Molly. He always offered to help her with anything physically strenuous. Unless he was acting like a toddler, he went out of his way to help her with most anything.

They ate take away every single night… Molly offered to cook dinner for him as a thank you, but he soon dismissed the notion. He stated that she was his guest and should not have to do anything.

She decided to make something simple, at least. As she looked through the cabinets, she discovered that they were bare of almost anything resembling real food. Or anything that could possibly make an actual meal. They were full of green tea, her favorite store bought biscuits, peppermints (the kind she kept in her desk at work), and coffee. These were all things he had observed from watching her at work. He did not have milk, eggs, vegetables, meat, or anything that most people keep in the kitchen; but he had these few things just for her. It warmed Molly's heart when she discovered this. She sighed, popped a peppermint into her mouth, and walked away.

She couldn't help but imagine what living with Sherlock would be like… She imagined the things John had told her about when he had been Sherlock's flat mate. Not talking for several days, not moving for several hours, not _ever _doing the shopping, playing the violin up into the wee hours, coming home from a case needing immediate doctoring, going insane when bored, and being tenaciously germaphobic but never bothering to clean up his own home. The list went on and on, but Molly still imagined that she could handle it. She had a job, she could still get her space from him when she needed it. She loved the violin, it was a peaceful sounding instrument to her. It would probably help her to fall asleep at night instead of disturb her sleep. Sherlock seemed to tolerate Tybalt enough to coexist with him; Tybalt, on the other hand, absolutely loved Sherlock.

There was no real point in even evaluating this; he didn't seem to want another flat mate after John anyway. The fact that she was currently living with him- however temporarily- still baffled her. A permanent arrangement was almost laughable. A few years ago, it would have been deemed unrealistic.

She could sense that there was a change in Sherlock. She didn't know if it would last, but there was a definite change. He seemed… softer. In a good way. She didn't know what had caused it, but she was grateful for it while she had to stay with him. He still acted like a total arse from time to time, but he wouldn't be Sherlock if he didn't.

Molly couldn't get enough of being around him. She couldn't stop studying his features, his habits, his voice, everything. She knew it was ridiculous to dote on a man who could never return the feelings, but she honestly could not help it. Maybe one day she could move on and find a non-sociopathic man to settle down with and have children with… but for now, she had Sherlock. And no matter _if_ she moved on or not, she would never regret or forget the feelings she had for him at this very moment.

* * *

A day later, Sherlock and Molly sat in opposite chairs in the lounge. Sherlock was absentmindedly playing his violin, but his focus was directed towards Molly.

She looked beautiful.

She had on a very loose blue button up shirt and very short, yellow shorts. Her hair flowed down her shoulders in a long beautiful mess. She sat with her legs crossed underneath her while she read the paper. A rather large pair of glasses were perched on the end of her nose. The frames were a dark purple and looked unquestionably adorable; Sherlock had seen her wear those glasses eleven times. Seeing her in them had become… quite stimulating.

Sherlock stopped playing and placed his violin on his lap while flipped his bow up and back until it leaned against his shoulder.

Molly noticed this, and looked up from her paper.

"I made reservations for tonight at 8:00 at Nuit étoilée," he said in a quick rush of words.

Molly had started to get use to him speaking so quickly at times, and heard him perfectly.

"Thought it might be nice for us to get away from the flat for tonight…"

Molly's insides felt as if they would explode at any minute from an excessive amount of butterflies fluttering about, "Like… as in…" She didn't want to sound stupid, but…

They spoke simultaneously.

"A date," said Sherlock.

"Friends?" asked Molly.

Molly's butterflies fluttered even more viciously as her eyes widened a bit. She quietly said, "Oh."

Sherlock's body stiffened after hearing the 'Oh.' He cleared his throat and spoke in a rush, "Yes. Friends. A friendly date. Of course friends. Friends have dates don't they? You and Philip just went on a date, did you not? You once asked me out on a date, I decided it's about time we go on it. It was just a thought, if you feel too weak I can cancel it." He internally scolded himself for falling all over his words like that in front of her… because of her.

A smile crept up on Molly's face, "No, no, no. That would be lovely! Thank you Sherlock!"

* * *

Molly had insisted on going back to her flat so that she could pick out an outfit.

Sherlock huffed and had said, "You have clothes here!"

"Sherlock, all you packed was a bunch of jeans, sweatpants, and shorts. Most people wear suits and dresses at Nuit étoilée."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, but finally submitted.

Sherlock walked Molly into her flat and into her bedroom. He sat on the edge of her bed, and waited for her to pick something out.

Molly, feeling squeamish as he watched her every move, tried to hurry. She grabbed a few dresses to assess, quickly putting back the one she wore to John and Mary's wedding. The one behind it was a nice pink one with lots of ruffles.

"The black one," Sherlock quickly blurted out, then blushed when Molly saw which one he was talking about and looked at him with shocked eyes.

Molly blushed when she looked at the black dress. It was by far the most scandalous thing she owned. It was lace. The sleeves were long but the skirt was short and very tight. It would have stopped at her mid-thigh. The back though. It was the main problem. It was completely open. Molly set the other dresses down. She turned the dress so that Sherlock could see its open back. She stared at the beautiful dress as she said, "I bought this thinking that one day I would have the confidence to wear it out. I was always too self-conscious. I've only worn it in the dressing room." She let out a weak laugh.

Sherlock's brows furrowed at hearing how hurt and upset she sounded as she spoke about the dress. He didn't understand yet.

"Now I'll never get to wear it. My scars will show. They'll never heal enough to where people can't see them," Molly's eyes started to burn. She knew it was stupid to cry about the stupid dress… but it wasn't just the dress. Other than her night terrors and when she wakes up from them, she had not had a break down since she had woken up in the hospital. She felt her body start to tremble. The pain from her scars and bruises began eating at her. The memories of Tom beating her and screaming at her started to flood her mind. The realization that she would _never_ fully recover from everything Tom had done to her hit her all at once. Tears began to fill her eyes but she made no noise. She didn't want to make a fuss; she turned the other way so Sherlock couldn't see, but he was already standing.

"Molly?" he said so quietly. Concern filled his voice and eyes. He tentatively made his way towards her, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She tried to wave him away while still hiding her face from him; her voice cracked a bit when she said, "I'm fine Sherlock, really."

A pained expression streaked Sherlock's face. He couldn't stand to see his Molly cry. He felt his heart ache at seeing a tear roll down her cheek. "That dress is very beautiful…" One hand held her shoulder while the other gently pulled her chin so that she looked at him. He brushed his thumb against her cheek over and over again, wiping the tears away, while he tried to think of the right words to say. He eventually continued with a slow and soothing voice, "But now that I look at it compared to _your_ beauty, it looks rather boring, dark, and dull… You are… light (swallows at lump in throat)… and warmth. That dress does not reflect what you mean to me."

Molly stared at the bizarre man in front of her. In all her life, she had never had anyone say something so beautiful or sweet… and it had come from Sherlock Holmes. How was this the same man who had always said such cruel things to her? The same man who had pointed out her flaws over and over again? The same man who used her feelings as an advantage for himself? The same man who completely ignored her for nearly eight months?

Molly made no other movement other than closing her eyes, and leaning onto his chest.

Without hesitation, Sherlock's arms wrapped around her and he held her snug against him. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. Molly could hear his heart pounding inside his chest; she took a deep breath and let Sherlock's scent fill her up. The sharp and sweet scent sent a chill throughout her body. They stayed like that for a few more moments.

"Thank you," Molly said quietly as she pulled away from him.

Sherlock tentatively moved his hands back to her face. Sherlock's eyes went from Molly's eyes to her lips, and back again. With his fingers that touched below her jawline, he could feel her pulse quicken. He saw her pupils dilate ever so slightly. He felt his mouth go dry by seeing her react this way by only holding her face. He imagined kissing her again. He wanted to kiss her again so badly that it physically pained him. Every instinct in his body told him to kiss her, to holder, and to never let go. He imagined kissing the soft skin of her neck; finding out which spots were most sensitive to her. He regretted not getting the chance to find out the other night.

Molly noticed Sherlock's averted gaze. She automatically licked her lips slightly so they didn't look chapped. She then felt silly for doing it and blushed and looked away.

Sherlock moved his face towards hers suddenly. His hold on her face tightened slightly. Molly's heart thumped hard against her rib cage. She closed her eyes in anticipation until she felt a soft kiss press against her cheek.

When he pulled away, he took a few steps away from her; hiding the front of his trousers. "So which will it be? The purple, pink, yellow, or blue?"

Molly pursed her lips to one side as she contemplated her decision. Her cheeks were flushed pink for thinking he was going to kiss her; really kiss her. She was being so silly.

"Umm… blue." It was a light blue dress and was vintage. It came down to her knees. It synched at the smallest part of her waist. It didn't have sleeves but she had a cardigan that would go with it nicely. She didn't feel like she could handle heels quite yet, so she decided on some flats. She still couldn't wear a bra, but she did need a thong for this particular dress. Sherlock hadn't packed her one so she tried to discretely grab one and tuck it into her pocket quickly.

It did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. His mouth went dry once again as he saw a black lace thong slip around her fingers before tucking into her pocket.

* * *

Molly insisted on Sherlock taking the first shower. He was a lot quicker than she was and she wanted to sit down for a while before she had to get ready. Sherlock obliged and took his shower quickly.

As he took his shower his mind was filled with memories of him and Molly together, along with fantasies of how things could have gone differently. The black lace thong invaded his mind as well… As the fantasies became more and more elaborate, his erection grew harder and harder, demanding to be touched. He didn't give in, but he certainly did not interrupt his train of thought with declarations of discrepancy.

When he was done, he poked his head out to see if Molly was around. He tried to hide his throbbing member as he made his way towards his room.

"Okay, I'm-!" Sherlock said right as Molly smacked into his chest. The impact caused one corner of his towel to slip. He luckily caught it before it exposed him completely; his entire body was stark naked except for the towel draped in front of the center of his hips.

Molly squeaked out loud in surprise as her face and torso collided with Sherlock's chest and waist. Her eyes were perfect circles and her mouth fell agape. She gasped and said, "Oh, oh m-my God, S-Sherlock! I-I'm so s-sorry!" Her dirty mind studied his chest and stomach and waist and hips and legs while she absentmindedly placed her hand on his chest as she backed away from him. She severely noticed how much that towel was _not _covering. Maybe she should have hit him harder.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock said as he side stepped, careful not to let her see his back side.

Molly nervously laughed and said, "Yeah, I'm great. You- you okay?"

Sherlock gave her a crooked smile and said, "Uh, ha, great. That's great. And uh, good, I'm- I'm good."

They circled one another until Molly stepped into the bathroom. When she shut the door, she leaned against it and let out a long breath. _Okay… so _that _was amazing and horrible. God, he must think I'm such a spaz. Oh, he has a great body. His skin was hot from the shower and wet… _Molly closed her eyes and audibly groaned from the embarrassingly sensual moment that had just occurred.

Sherlock dropped his hand as soon as the door closed; his erection sprung forward. He let out a long breath as he closed his eyes, thinking about what had just happened. He walked into his room with the towel dragging on the ground.

When Molly reached out and touched his bare chest, it sent shivers through him. It had not helped his current predicament. He noticed the way she had looked at his almost naked body. He could see that she was sexually aroused by just seeing him like this. Her eyes had turned mostly black in that instant and her face had grown hot and pink. He couldn't help the bit of vanity he felt for himself as he saw this response from her by seeing him naked. Almost.

He gave in.

He leaned against the door and grasped his hardened muscle. His eyes shut and his head fell back against the door as pleasure shot through him. He firmly but slowly moved his hand up and down his shaft.

Pre cum began to seep from him and he used it as a lubricant. His knee began to buckle slightly as constant waves of pleasure flowed through his body and down his legs. He quickly moved to the bed and laid down. His hips began to buck without his permission while he quickened the pace of his hand.

It had been a while since he had given into masturbation. He had stubbornly denied himself to succumb to his human desires for the past several months; years, in fact. His only mission right now was to finally have sweet release. He had imagined two ways of getting it. Masturbation was the more appropriate of the two options. The other being to fuck Molly senseless.

He heard Molly groan through the wall. This sent a more intense wave of heat to surge through him. He let out a very quiet and breathy moan as a naked Molly calling out his name filled his mind. He imagined having her breast in his mouth, and him sucking and licking her pert nipples. He wanted her fingers tangled through his hair, he wanted to hear her make sounds of pleasure like gasping and moaning from feeling him inside of her. He wanted her to sit on his lap and he wanted her to roll her hips against him. He moved his hips and hand along with the fantasy. That was a first for him.

It wasn't long before he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning or even calling out Molly's name due to the waves of electricity running through his body.

That would have been embarrassing.

His climax couldn't have come sooner. He had been holding it off for so long it honestly caused his mind to go blank from bliss and ecstasy when it finally did occur. He couldn't even fathom what making love to the actual Molly would be like. He knew it would be even better than this when they did- _if_ they did have sex. Which they wouldn't.

Right before his climax, Sherlock pulled the towel up to cover himself. He didn't want to have to clean it up and didn't want any of his sperm to land on any of Molly's things. He would only have to hide the towel from Molly until he had the chance to wash them.

He was lying in bed trying to catch his breath, when a knock came from the door. He hadn't heard the shower turn off. He panicked and rushed to get some pants on as he wadded up the soaked towel into a ball.

"Sherlock?" Molly said timidly.

Sherlock said, "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

Sherlock panicked and said, "No! I- uh- I mean umm… ok."

The door opened and Molly's head poked in. "You're out of towels…" She looked down at his body and saw that he was only wearing some black boxer pants. "Why aren't you dressed?"

Sherlock, panicking again and said, "Experiment."

Molly's brows furrowed as she said, "Oookayy… What about the towels?"

Sherlock's grip on his towel tightened as he said, "What?"

"Can I have your towel?"

"What? Why?"

"There aren't anymore, I just told you that" Molly laughed at how flustered Sherlock was acting.

"No! Just dry your hair naked," Sherlock said defensively.

Molly snorted and laughed some more. "Can I at least borrow your robe?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her giggling, then took his robe to her. She grabbed it while trying to keep the door as a barrier between them. Sherlock smiled and rolled his eyes at her modesty. Sherlock heard the hair dryer turn on finally and decided to go in and finish getting ready, not bothering to put on more clothes. He opened the door and saw Molly jump.

He pointed towards his toothbrush in the cup. "You mind?"

Molly saw and shook her head no. Her eyes explored his body for a brief moment before she returned to drying her hair. Sherlock globbed on as much toothpaste as possible onto his toothbrush. He stuck it in his mouth before any of it had the chance to fall off. He feverishly brushed his teeth while he watched Molly trying not to stare at him. It was amusing.

When he finished shaving, he reached for his bottle of aftershave in front of Molly. He looked down at her and noticed how thin his robe was. Hard nipples shown through the front of it. And just like that, the God forsaken erection was back, along with the dryness in his mouth. He looked away as fast as he could, but not fast enough. Molly looked down to see what he had glanced at. Her face had flushed a deep red as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Sherlock tried to turn around before she noticed, but it was too late. Though she didn't get a good look, she saw the movement coming from the front of his pants. Her mouth fell open in surprise. She was never one for subtly.

Sherlock coolly walked out and went into his room to put the rest of his clothes on.

* * *

Sherlock sat on the sofa, waiting for Molly to finish getting ready. He felt embarrassed for what had happened earlier. Extremely embarrassed, in fact. He cringed every time he thought about it, but he knew Molly would be much too scared and timid to ever mention it, so he decided not to worry about it too much.

He wore one of his nicer suits. He had dabbed on maybe a little too much cologne. He also tried to make his unruly curls look like they had for John's wedding, but couldn't tame them quite as well. He needed a bloody haircut… He looked very dashing, none the less.

He stared into oblivion until he heard footsteps approach him. He looked at Molly who stood a few meters away. She looked beautiful. Her dress was modest, but it accentuated her curves wonderfully. It was bright and quirky; just like his Molly. Yes, this dress was perfect for her. He stared at her for a few more moments until a crooked grin crept onto his face as he stared at her. With a deep and sincere voice, Sherlock said, "You are a vision, Molly Hooper."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, I read like three fanfictions, and in all of them Molly's fake cat's name is Toby… I didn't know that was a thing. I'm sorry. I'm keeping it Tybalt though because it's Shakespeare, and I love Shakespeare. **

**I originally had their "date" in this chapter too, but I felt that it was starting to get too long. I have it written out, but now that it will be its own chapter, I can write it in better detail! **

**I cringed when I typed the word cum… That is one of the most unattractive words ever. Bleh. Other than that, I'm pretty pleased with that part… for professional writing purposes of course… Not because I was envisioning Benedict Cumberbatch naked and with an erection… at all…**

**Hmm… so how do y'all think Sherlock and Molly's night should go? Any ideas of what should happen? How should it end? I've got it plotted out, but I am willing to change how it goes if I like the idea enough! Leave a review! Let me know what you think! Please and thank you!**

**Bye! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

**Even though I have not received any complaints, I must apologize for not updating sooner… College, work, slight social life… I'm not good at juggling them. What else can I say? I actually have been writing this chapter the entire time though… There were no breaks. I honestly hope this chapter makes up for my ridiculously long absence. I have a feeling it will, due to its length and contents… I swear that wasn't supposed to be an innuendo… (Inappropriate and immature giggling).**

**Thank you thank you thank you to the people followed and favorited this story! And thank you for every review written! I really appreciate them so so much!**

**And as for Tybalt/Toby, I honestly had no idea they had actually made a real blog for Molly! I feel so stupid for naming the cat Tybalt now! But I am still not going to change it… I'm sorry…**

**Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter… So… here ya go…**

* * *

Chapter 12

They arrived at Nuit étoilée, and were immediately seated.

Molly looked around the room, and immediately understood the name. It was dark and warm. Small lights scattered all around the high ceilings caused the room to look infinite. Every chair was large and abundantly cushioned. Each table was filled with crystal and silver and other extraordinary things. The low sound of chatter and clanking and piano playing filled the air around them.

Molly almost felt like crying, this place was so spectacularly beautiful. It was almost like art. The wonderful aroma of a passing plate filled her senses.

Molly smiled at Sherlock and said, "Thank you, Sherlock! This place is amazing!"

Sherlock just curled one side of his lips and said in his deep melodic voice, "You are very welcome."

A young man named Colin came and asked what they would have to drink.

"Champagne?" Sherlock said with a questioning glance towards Molly.

Molly only nodded.

The Champagne was an expensive brand.

"Did you help the owner out with a case or something?" Every bit of take-away they had eaten in the past few days had been free for similar reasons.

Sherlock looked up at her from his menu with a raised brow and a small smirk. "Nope, never met him."

Molly's smile faltered a bit. She couldn't afford this place…

"It's my treat, Molly," he said while turning his attention back to the menu.

Molly paused for a moment.

"You're sure..?"

He simply nodded and continued to not look at her.

"Thank you..."

Sherlock just smiled slightly, not saying anything.

She knew she should be looking at the menu, but she couldn't stop her eyes from wandering around the room around her. Even the people here were beautiful. Some of them around her were dressed in designer outfits that she recognized from magazines she had flipped through before. She was almost positive Sherlock was wearing a Prada suit. She felt very out of place in her non-name brand dress. When her eyes finally shifted back to her own table, she discovered Sherlock staring at her intently; his blue eyes shining.

Molly awkwardly looked away as she took a sip of her champagne. She savored every bubble that tickled her throat- they probably cost a penny each.

Sherlock was not as impressed by the lights or the sounds or the people as Molly was. He could tell she was enjoying herself, and that on its own made him smile to himself. She stood out from the rest of the people in the room. Her dress was bright blue and modest while other women around her wore reds and blacks. Her presence showed self-consciousness and excitement rather than privileged and boredom. Sherlock knew she was an extremely intelligent human being, but she never bragged about it. He didn't understand it, but he enjoyed that quality about her. Her kindness and warm-heartedness radiated around her and effected everyone she came in contact with. People tended to shy away from Sherlock in general, especially before he became famous. He use to like this quality about himself, and he still did. But not with Molly. He did not want her to shy away from him… ever.

The waiter finally came back to take their order. Sherlock ordered something Molly could not ever hope to repeat. She looked at the Menu quickly, scanning for something that looked familiar. She gave up and pointed at a random part of the menu, hoping it wasn't something ridiculously expensive. Sherlock also ordered a bottle of wine to go with their meal.

Molly took a long swig of water and started munching on a breadstick. She didn't want to get too tipsy and she knew she couldn't handle a lot of alcohol. She was already starting to feel a little warm, so decided to take her cardigan off.

To Sherlock's surprise, the dress was not as modest as he had originally thought. The dress's material didn't exactly show anything but it wasn't a very thick material. No one would notice she wasn't wearing a bra unless they stared for a moment at her breasts. Except for Sherlock. He knew. He knew before they even left the flat. But now that they were exposed to him; free for him to glance at, think about, and imagine about…. It caused quite the reaction. He cleared his throat and scooted his chair closer to the table, so that his lap was hidden beneath the safety of the table cloth. His face flushed a little red as he downed the rest of his champagne.

Their food arrived along with the wine. Sherlock's dish looked suspiciously like regular spaghetti with an odd kind of pasta. Molly's was a thick orange soup of some kind. She leaned over a bit to get a sniff of the contents. Heavenly was the only description she could think of. She dipped her spoon into the bowl and watched the swirling steam rise up. Sherlock watched her as he took a long sip of his wine.

As they ate, Sherlock talked about the cases that he had worked on while he was away after the fall. She loved hearing about the outrageous stories that she knew were true, and Sherlock enjoyed bragging about how clever he was. While Sherlock talked about cases, Molly talked about various post-mortems and autopsies she had to perform while he was away. She only talked about the ones she knew he would have been interested in. Ones to do with murders. He was angry at the fact that he could not have been there to solve the crime in a much more reasonable amount of time than Lestrade and his team had done. Molly giggled at his justified over confidence.

When they were almost done, Molly could tell she was a little bit tipsy, and she was sure Sherlock was almost at that point; even though he had consumed almost twice as much alcohol as she had.

Molly ended up telling him a funny story from work that had only happened about four months ago. They both laughed at the story until they realized that the only reason Sherlock didn't already know it was because he had been ignoring her during that time.

Molly tried not to think about that anymore. It had hurt knowing that he was able to shut her out at any given time for that long amount of time. He had stated once that she had mattered the most. Perhaps he had meant that she mattered the most _at that precise moment._ She now realized that she had been silly for thinking he meant otherwise. She knew he thought of her as a friend _now_, but knew she could never mean much more than that to him. He was much too stubborn. She knew that whatever that had been going on with him for the past few days had just been… biology. He would eventually realize he couldn't continue like this, due to it interfering with his cases. She knew that his work was much too important to him to just throw it away for some woman. She still wondered if there was a part of him that wanted to shut her out like before. She wondered if he would ever act on it if he did. It would break her heart if he ever did.

Sherlock thought back to when he had shut her out of his life. He couldn't and wouldn't admit it, but it had stung when the only person who could truly see the real him, had "completely moved on." He remembered overhearing her saying those exact words to Lestrade… At the time, his body went numb and cold. He hadn't expected this reaction from himself, but it had happened none the less. There was no deigning it. Not to himself at least. He knew she hadn't actually been "in love" with him, but the fact that her silly crush on him had been completely blown away by _Tom_ pissed him off. It had caused an emotional reaction from him, and he didn't like it. He didn't want Molly to affect him that way. He hadn't wanted to know anything about their relationship. He didn't want to know when they had seen each other; he didn't want to know when they made love to one another; he didn't want to know how much she loved Tom instead of himself… It had been jealousy. Sherlock had hated Tom for taking away the one person that meant the most to him. For causing her to "move on" from him while he was away. He had been selfish and stupid. If he hadn't been acting like a child, he could have kept Molly from being kidnapped from Tom. She never would have been taken, never would have been hurt, and never would have been raped. Sherlock hated himself—truly hated himself- and would always hate the part of him that allowed this to happen to her.

Sherlock turned solemn while thinking about this. His eyes finally focused on Molly, who was looking at him with a worried expression. His voice turned low as he said, "Molly, I… I do apologize… for everything. For not… keeping in touch while I was away… and for not… _being there_ when I did come back." He kicked himself for struggling with his words.

Molly shook her head and gave a weak smile, "S'okay, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't want her to say that. He became angry at himself, "No. No it's not _okay_, Molly, I could've (he took a deep, shaky breath) I could have prevented this whole thing… I should have seen the signs. I- I should have protected you, I-"

"Sherlock," Molly interrupted, "There is _nothing _you could have done. Do you hear me? _Nothing._"

"No… I let my weaknesses get the better of me. I noticed the signs too late. I let him do this to you," He said while he reached for her hand, brushing his fingers against her wrists where the healing scars still remained. "I could have seen it if I were willing to look, but I didn't want to see you, Molly. I didn't want…" he looked away for a moment and ran his hand over his curls quickly; he knew what he was about to say, but he knew that he couldn't say it. She didn't need to know that. He was getting flustered and was lucky he had stopped himself. He tried to calm himself down; he looked back at her again and said slowly, "I will never shut you out again… I promise."

Molly gave a small nod, not knowing what to say. Relief flooded her at hearing this. After him not talking to her for so long, it did feel weird for them to be so… close now. She had to admit that she had been worried that this arrangement was only temporary. That once she went back to living in her own flat, Sherlock would immediately shut her out again. She wanted to know the reason for the first time, but decided to find out at a different time. Sherlock's hand had moved away from hers, but the feeling still lingered; causing her cheeks to feel a little hot.

Sherlock saw this and started to smile again.

"Shall we?" Sherlock said.

They walked out the restaurant and Sherlock hailed a cab. "Fancy a drink? I know of a pub near Baker Street you might like."

Molly looked at the slightly blurry Sherlock beside her. "Umm… yes."

* * *

Molly watched as Sherlock downed the last of his second scotch. She didn't know why but she was extremely turned on at seeing him slightly intoxicated. The fact that she was intoxicated as well probably helped cause this sort of thinking. Sherlock set the empty glass down on the table with a bit too much force, and grinned up at Molly.

Molly just giggled and sipped at her martini.

The loud music from the bar caused them to yell at one another. Sherlock went into a long discussion of a discovery he had made. He was trying to brag about himself and seem charming, but he wasn't doing a very good job. His words were slurred and his eyes lingered on Molly where they shouldn't. He spoke loudly, "Just a few months ago I made one of the most practical medico-legal discoveries that has ever been discovered in the past several years. It's a new test for blood stains! If you add a drop of blood to a liter of water, it looks as if it were just water! Yes? Yes! But! But…" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed and his mouth shut.

Molly had not been paying much attention to him. Her eyes were fixated on his lips and how they moved when he spoke. It was like a dance. His cupid's bow stretched and curved and curled. She wanted to capture it between her own two lips; her drunken mind made her believe it was a good idea, but she thankfully didn't act on it.

A blonde waitress with large breasts came by their table to hand Sherlock another drink. She had on a skin tight black dress with five inch heels. She was very beautiful. Sherlock would not have noticed her if she hadn't put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. He squished his eyebrows together and scrunched his nose at her in an exaggerated fashion. Molly couldn't tell if he were disgusted or confused. As the waitress passed him, he reached out towards her and said, "Ey, I-I… I dint ordrrr thiss…"

The blonde turned around and smiled at him. "On the house, sweetheart."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment longer. He looked as if he were trying to solve a puzzle before him. He then smiled a big goofy smile, then said, "Thanks!" He quickly turned around towards Molly. "Let's go to the cinema!"

The waitress's face dropped as she gave Molly a chilling glare.

"It's too late to go to the cinema! We've been drinking anyway." Molly said while giggling.

Sherlock looked as if he were about to cry. "But Molly!"

"No, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at his lap and moped for a moment. After a long pause he said, "Please?"

"Sherlock, I promise I will go to the cinema with you another night. Alright?"

Sherlock looked down at his scotch and whirled it around a few times slowly. "Alright."

Sherlock had his arm wrapped around the waist of the slightly limp Molly Hooper. They zig zagged down the sidewalk, slowly making their way towards Baker Street. They were both snickering at something stupid Molly had said. Sherlock grasped at Molly, trying to keep her from falling over, occasionally grabbing the side of her breast or her bum.

Molly noticed this of course, but did nothing to stop it. She thought it was both hot and funny at the same time. It caused her to jump and laugh loudly every time it happened.

Sherlock exclaimed his apologies over and over again, but he enjoyed it and liked hearing her laugh. He found himself with an erection, but did not bother trying to hide it from Molly. His once refined curls had turned chaotic from running his fingers through them. His eyes still looked alert but his words were slurring every once in a while. His walk was wavering but somewhat steady compared to Molly's.

Molly felt like a rag doll. Her feet felt heavy against the pavement while the rest of her felt as if it would topple over at any moment. Every little thing was funny to her. She wanted to kiss everyone and tell them she loved them. She did love everyone. Everyone was so nice here. Everyone loved everybody, they just didn't express it enough. They should express their love more. Molly's drunken mind thought that this was a fantastic idea, and decided to act on it.

Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck and got on her tiptoes. "Sherlock, I love you!" She planted a big kiss on his cheek and made a loud, "Mwah!" sound.

The haziness in Sherlock's mind cleared up a small amount after that. He did not smile, he did not return the gesture… but his heart fluttered inside his chest at an impossible speed.

A man in a cab they were walking by, cheered out something in an odd language at them.

Molly pointed at him and yelled out, "I love you too!"

Sherlock's heart stopped fluttering and his eyebrows furrowed.

They continued to walk.

* * *

They made it to the flat.

In a loud whispering voice, Molly yelled, "Mrs. Hudson! I love you!"

That was the fifth person she had confessed her love to tonight. Sherlock had eventually started to chuckle at the drunken statements of affection. She had tried to pull her mobile phone out and call/text people, but Sherlock confiscated it in time. As they ascended the stares, Molly counted each step out loud, but somehow miscounted them. Sherlock quickly corrected her.

He plopped her down on the sofa, while he went to fix some coffee.

While he was clumsily fiddling with cups, and spoons, and water; Molly started to sing one of her songs that she would sometimes hum while she took her showers. Sherlock, who had memorized the tune but not the words, began to hum along with her. She looked over at him and smiled. They continued to sing/hum while Sherlock fixed them some coffee.

Through the middle of their third song, Sherlock brought in two large cups of black coffee. "If you weren't so drunk, I might have asked you to dance," he said jokingly as he sat next to her.

She quit singing and swatted at him. "I'm justabit tipsy's all."

"Mhm," he said as he took his first sip of coffee. He knew the coffee wouldn't make him less drunk, but it would help him be a bit more alert.

Molly took a sip and choked. She shuttered at the bitterness. "Your coffee is toooo stroooonng."

"Shut up and drink it."

Molly frowned as she took another sip of the thick liquid. She cringed and set the cup down. Tybalt jumped up and sat between Molly and Sherlock, he meowed at the two of them, begging for attention. Molly's head felt a little less cloudy now, she realized they both needed to start drinking a lot of water if they wanted to avoid a hangover in the morning. She tried to stand up but fell back on the couch immediately. This caused Tybalt to dart away from them.

"What do you need, Molly?" Sherlock asked.

"We need water. Lots and lots and lots of water."

Sherlock got up and got them both a large glass of water. Surprisingly, they found themselves extremely thirsty and finished the glasses within minutes.

Within the next two hours, they finished a total of seven glasses of water, four pieces of bread, and five trips to the loo. Sherlock had ridded himself of his coat, jacket, and shoes; while Molly still wore her dress, which was now becoming very uncomfortable. Sherlock felt almost completely sober now, while Molly still felt a bit tipsy. They both felt exhausted though. Sherlock stood up and made a grand gesture while offering Molly his hand. Okay, maybe he was still a little drunk.

Molly went into the room to change into something more comfortable, which was a large T shirt and her knickers. She did not want to wear her shorts or trousers tonight. She didn't care if Sherlock would get upset, she wanted to be as comfortable as possible. She crawled under the covers, closed her eyes, and started to doze off instantly. All of a sudden, the door swung opened and Sherlock walked in with his shirt completely unbuttoned and opened wide. Molly lifted her head and furrowed her brows at him.

Sherlock slung his shirt off and threw it across the room. He then, began to unbutton his trousers.

Molly's eyes popped open wide at seeing this. "Sh-Sherlock, w-what are you doing?!"

"Getting ready for bed," he said nonchalantly while he bent down to pull his trousers off his legs. He then lifted each foot up to pull his socks off, never breaking eye contact with Molly.

Molly knew she should look away so that he could have his privacy, but she didn't. She was transfixed by the act of him stripping his clothes off in front of her. A heat spread throughout her entire body. She moved her legs underneath the cool sheets.

Sherlock climbed on top of her and rolled to the other side of the bed. This, of course, caused Molly's heart to jump out of her chest. Sherlock slipped himself underneath the covers and relaxed against his pillows.

Molly turned over to face him. "Why are you in bed with me?"

"I've slept with you every night you've been staying here," Sherlock said while his eye lids started to droop.

"Oh…" Molly said quietly. There was a long quiet pause before Molly spoke again. "Why are you in your pants?"

Sherlock's eyes had closed and remained closed while a grin spread across his face, "Would you rather me take those off as well?"

Molly blushed the deepest of reds. "Umm…"

Sherlock's eyes opened while he laughed and said, "I could ask you the same question." He wagged his eyebrows at her and he bent one of his knees towards her until it rubbed against her thigh.

Molly jumped and gasped at the feel of him touching her so intimately on purpose. This couldn't be the real Sherlock. This was Alcohol Sherlock who was flirting and being so forward with her. She didn't want him making mistakes based on being intoxicated. She knew this wasn't what he really wanted. She knew he would regret this in the morning. She knew she should send him away, just for tonight. But she didn't, she turned the other way without a word. She finally fell asleep a few minutes later.

Sherlock was well aware of what he was doing. He knew alcohol helped push him to do these actions, but deep down, he knew this is what he really wanted—what he truly wanted. After Molly turned away from him, his face fell. He sighed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep a few minutes later.

* * *

"SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK, HELP!" Molly began to scream. Her body began to tremble all over. She curled herself up into the fetal position. Tears flowed down her cheeks, her face turned red, and pleading cries escaped her mouth. The alcohol caused her to have extremely vivid dreams tonight. The sight of Tom beating her naked body filled her mind. He switched to different tools. Some only made her skin sting, some made her bruise, and some made her bleed. Sometimes he would have to stop so that he could jerk himself off. He always became aroused at seeing her in so much pain... _that sick fucking bastard_. The dream wasn't just a dream. It was a memory. She remembered him doing this exact thing to her while she was in that damn basement with him. He would tease himself for a while until he was close to an orgasm. He would then drop down on top of her and slam himself into her repeatedly until he came inside her. The pain felt fresh as she dreamt of the feeling of him entering her weak and beaten body. She let out a wet sob as she tried to fight Tom away from her. Where was Sherlock? Why hadn't he found her yet?

Sherlock practically jumped on top of her, trying to protect her from whomever or whatever was trying to hurt her. When his sleepy mind finally realized that she was dreaming, his heart broke for her. She couldn't escape him. He seeped into her mind while she slept and took away all the peace she had gained. It didn't matter how long it had been since he had taken her, these dreams will always bring her right back to where she started. Sherlock held himself up on his right elbow while his left arm held tight onto Molly. "Molly, Molly, It's okay. He's gone. He's gone." He spoke softly and calmly. His throat tightened at seeing her like this, but he wanted her to feel like everything was alright. He wanted to keep her safe from any sort of threat including these God forsaken dreams.

Molly looked at Sherlock and the familiar look of terror filled her face. Sherlock's eyes began to burn. A flare of hatred went out towards Tom. Tom caused these night terrors, he caused Molly to see Tom when she looked at Sherlock sometimes. Sherlock could not help that they looked similar, but he could still help Molly overcome this.

"Molly, look at me. I'm not him! I'm Sherlock!" Sherlock's face was inches from hers. He ran his fingers through her hair over and over again. Molly's face relaxed at realizing it was Sherlock. Sherlock relaxed a bit as well. Sherlock whispered to her, "It's alright, it's alright. I've got you. He's not here. I'll protect you, Molly. He can't hurt you."

Molly still continued to cry. The dream was _very _vivid. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. It was horrible. It was so real. It _was_ real… He really did those things to me… I'm never going to get better. He hurt me so much. You can't… I can't… I can't believe something like this happened to me. I thought he _loved _me! He had convinced me that he loved me! I should have known! I should have known! I was so stupid for thinking…" her words got lost in her sobbing and weeping. She covered her face with one hand.

Sherlock lifted his left hand and rested on her jawline while his thumb brushed against her cheek softly. They both breathed heavily from the earlier excitement; both of them felt the hot breath from the other brush across their cheek and neck. Sherlock's eyes burned and his throat had gone dry. "Molly, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's… not fare… what happened to you… It's not right. I- I will never let anything bad happen to you again. You are too precious to lose again. When I thought I had lost you, I-…" Sherlock shuttered. He couldn't even finish his sentence. "You mean _so _much to me; you mean _the most_ to me. Don't you remember me telling you that? You think so little of yourself, Molly Hooper, and I honestly cannot understand why. If it weren't for you, I would not be here, right now... I will spend the rest of my life trying to repay you for that. And not because I _have _to. Don't you see that, Molly? Molly, don't you know that I…" He stopped himself short. The words wouldn't come. They shouldn't, at least. He stared at her for a moment longer… her eyes were filled with tears. Sherlock's heart was racing and aching; he could feel the blood pumping through his veins; his lungs begged for more and more air; his body buzzed with excitement and nerves. Sherlock could not hold back any further.

His lips found hers easily in the dark. With every movement of his lips and tongue, he pleaded with her to understand. Begged her to understand everything he couldn't say, everything he shouldn't say—things he himself didn't quite understand. His arm, while wrapped around her, allowed his fingers to slip into her hair. This kiss was desperate and hungry, but not rough. No, Sherlock was not a rough snogger. Especially not now. He wanted Molly in so many ways he didn't know his heart and mind were capable of wanting. His mind raced into oblivion while he studied the way her lips curved around his, the way her tongue felt as it brushed against his own, the soft sounds she made when Sherlock did something extremely right.

The softness and tenderness of this kiss overwhelmed Molly. It was filled with more passion than any other kiss she had experienced. Molly had fallen into the rhythm of the kiss easily. Her hands reached out and rubbed against his bare chest. She could feel his strong muscles underneath his hot skin. In one spot though, she could feel where a scar still remained.

Sherlock could feel her fingers linger over one of his scars, and became self-conscious of them all. He quickly moved to where he hovered over her, causing her to lie flat on her back. He propped his upper body up on his elbows while his lower body laid beside Molly. He slowly hooked his left knee between her legs, but tried to not put any weight on her. He didn't want to hurt her by lying on top of her. He _made sure_ not to hurt her. He had to be gentle. He tilted his head and caused the kiss to deepen even further. A deep moan rose up from his throat while Molly let out a quiet sigh. Sherlock pulled away from Molly's mouth and created a trail of kisses from her lips to her jawline. From there, he began to explore using his lips, his tongue, and his teeth. He found which spots were the most sensitive to her. He grazed his teeth along her collar bone and sent shivers up her spine. He slowly and softly lapped his tongue against the side of her neck and gently sucked on her soft skin, causing her to sigh and gasp.

While Sherlock did his exploring across her neck, Molly's fingers found their way into his inky black curls. When a rush of pleasure was sent through her because of something Sherlock had done, her fingers grasped at his curls tightly. When she did this, he would sometimes pause and moan deeply against her skin. The thick vibration of his voice shuddered throughout her body, causing her to gasp or moan along with him. With as much sexual tension that had been brewing between them for such a long period of time, every touch, every kiss, and every sound sent the other reeling.

While they continued, Sherlock tried to ignore every cell in his body telling him to lie on top of her and press his hips into her. He also tried to ignore the fact that Molly's legs had spread slightly since the beginning of their little escapade. He also tried to ignore the fact that he could feel a heat from between her thighs. He also tried to ignore the fact that she arched her back at every touch and stroke and kiss.

He did not really know where to go from here due to lack of experience and due to Molly's current condition. He didn't care though. They could continue doing _just this_ until they died for all Sherlock cared. He wondered about Molly though. Did she really want to be kissing him? Was she just tired and intoxicated? Would she wake up the next morning and regret this? Would she want to leave him?

He pulled away from her suddenly, and looked up at her eyes. Her arms around him tightened, fearing he would realize he wasn't dreaming again. Fearing that she was dreaming. Fearing he would change his mind. Fearing anything and everything possible that would cause this moment to go away or stop.

He breathed heavily as he spoke to her, "Molly… is this… okay? If you don't want this I-… I know I didn't… exactly… ask. I'm sorry… I should've as-_mmh_!"

Molly shut him up with her own lips. How could he be so stupid? How could he think this wasn't what she wanted? He was an idiot, sometimes. Her arms that were wrapped around his neck, tightened. She put her weight on him, trying to cause him to lie down. He eventually caught on and lied down on his back. He felt stupid for not thinking of that before.

Molly did not straddle him, nor lay completely on top of him. She tentatively moved her leg so that it rubbed Sherlock's inner thigh. He let out a quiet gasp as his body tensed and heat and tingling washed through his entire body.

_She wants this. _Truly_ wants this… For God's sake,_ I_ want this._

This built up emotion, tension, and longing all came crashing through his walls. His hands slid to her waist as he positioned himself underneath her completely, causing her to rub against his hardened erection and straddle him. Sherlock let out a quick gasp from the feeling that rushed through him.

Molly was surprised at the sudden movement in their position. She smiled at Sherlock as she sat up and settled her weight on top of him, her eyes popped open at what she felt. His erection protruded against her inner thigh; the only thing separating them was the thin fabric of each other's pants. She had always imagined him being… large, but the sheer girth of him surprised even her fantasies. As she sat there, staring at him, she could feel his erection twitch with anticipation. She marveled at his bare chest; it was covered with old wounds. She saw a few bullet holes, a few possible knife wounds, and even a long burn on his right hip. His body was toned and hard and beautiful. His eyes wandered all over her while his hands softly brushed her thighs and hips. Molly moved her hands towards his torso and softly rubbing his stomach and chest while leaning down and giving him soft kisses along his upper body—giving special attention to the scars she could reach. She continued to kiss and explore his neck and chest with her lips and tongue while he fought the urge to gasp and moan and growl at every right spot. Molly noticed the crook of his neck was his weakest spot. She continued to suck and lick and graze her teeth against his hot skin while Sherlock's breathing became deep, his fingers dug into the sheets instead of Molly's skin, his head moved so that she had complete access to this sweet spot, and his legs began to move around slowly- causing Molly's weight to shift against his hips slightly. She snaked a few of her fingers into his curls, sending shivers down his spine while she applied more pressure to her kiss on his neck. Sherlock audibly groaned as his hands quickly moved back to Molly's hips and raised his hips to meet hers.

Molly let out a gasp. She hadn't expected that. She felt one of her legs quiver from the pure pleasure rushing through her body. But near her opening, she felt a dull pain start to appear. It was an odd feeling, pain and pleasure coexisting…

As soon as Sherlock heard Molly gasp, he realized what he had done, and shot his hands away from her suddenly. "Sorry!" he says to her. He cringed from guilt and embarrassment.

Molly kissed him full on his lips while she gently ground her hips against his once again. And once again, pain and pleasure shot through her.

A deep growl/groan rose up from his throat while his eyes closed and his head fell back. His body was tense now. He tried not to move. He knew they could not continue like this, and he knew he could not be rough with her. He gently placed his hands on her mid waist, careful not to hurt her. She ground herself against him again. Another low groan came from Sherlock while Molly bit back a hiss from the pain.

Sherlock noticed this of course. He notices everything. He held her away from him so that she could look at him. He held her in a way that told her to stop. His eyebrows furrowed at her. _Why would she do this to herself? It's hurting her. _"Molly, I know you're not ready… I know we can't…" Sherlock awkwardly let the sentence fall. Then he whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you…"

"I know… I know…" She said softly. She looked down. Even though he had been gentler than any other lover she had ever experienced, she knew she would be sore in the morning. She knew she would probably even have old bruises reappear on her. She thought back to their date. She would definitely have bruises from when he had practically dragged her back to the flat.

Sherlock nudged her off of him enough so that she laid beside him once again instead of straddled him. He awkwardly got an arm underneath her and pulled her close to him. She laid her head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his mid-section. Sherlock kissed her forehead and rubbed her scalp with his fingertips. There was a long pause for a while.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry…"

"For what, darling?" Sherlock didn't know why he enjoyed calling her that, but he did. It sounded good to him.

Molly's heart did a flip at hearing him call her that. "For not being able to… not being ready for… us to… you know."

Sherlock kissed her forehead again and shushed her.

It was not her fault. She could not possibly help it. She isn't ready. It would hurt her too much. It was Tom's fault. If it weren't for Tom, this night would have gone a lot different. At least with Sherlock's intentions.

He continued to think about 'what if' questions. He wondered what his night would have been like if Tom had never come into the picture. Would Sherlock have been pushed to this point without the jealousy Tom had instigated? Would he have finally given in to his human needs? These and many more questions, thoughts, ideas, raced through his mind. His thoughts ranged from what had just occurred between him and Molly, to what may lie in the future for them. Sherlock's mind felt so alive and manic, yet so tired and full of haze. His eyes drooped while his fingers continued to slip through Molly's hair. He could feel Molly's heartbeat finally slow down and her breathing become steady.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**HOLY CRAP GUYS!**

**Did it finally happen? Did I actually quit teasing you guys and give you what you want? **

**Well… how was it? Too much? Not enough? Too corny? Not corny enough? Too… "detailed"? Should I have warned you guys? If so… too bad. It's rated M. Like Loki, I do what I want. But I am open to suggestions **

**HAHA!**

**And about the Alcohol, I don't drink but my friends do. I've been the babysitter but I don't know much about how people actually think while being drunk. Also, I've heard that water and bread help cure drunkenness. Not sure if it's true. It is in this universe hahaha**

**Also, the "blood stain" part was partially copied from A Study in Scarlett by Doyle. I know it was a super short part, but I still wanted to let y'all know! **

**So, thank you for everyone's patience while I wrote this chapter. I know it is extremely long, and I am sort of sorry. **

**I would really appreciate some reviews if you've got the time. If not, that's cool. I understand. **

**Not going to promise anything about the next update except that it will eventually get here. Some day. I promise. Might be tomorrow, might be next week. Who knows? Not me. **

**I love you all so much, thank you for reading, and good night!**


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